Fast Approaching Death
by Kira Kiralina
Summary: Sookie, the quiet office mouse meets biker Eric, a true adrenaline junkie, who is zooming into her life. Sparks ignite, but will their past allow them to be what we all want? Controversial issues. Angst will be revealed in later chapters. AH/AU mainly E/S
1. On the road

**Fast Approaching Death**

**1. On the road**

_**A/N**_

_Thank you for joining this Eric and Sookie avatars on this ride._

_Million thanks to my gracious beta, Kjwrit. She help me with this idea, gave me courage and a much needed proper English language. Also to all the amazing ladies on twitter that fueled my self-confidence._

_Action takes place in Romania, just because I enjoy having our SVM characters tour my country. No undead vampires in this story even if here is Dracula's birthing place. All in here are red-blooded, living and breathing humans._

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Damn!_ I thought as I almost spilled gas on my shoes. All of the gas station attendants were busy and it had been a while since I serviced my car by myself. I walked into the store needing something to help boost my energy for the three hour drive I had ahead of me. I searched in vain for Burn, my favorite energy drink, but I had to settle for something else, just like how everything else in my life seemed to be going lately. Sighing deeply I paid for the gas and my second best drink option. The shitty Friday morning I turned out to be having wasn't the way I wanted to start a long weekend.

The company I work for was having a team building retreat over the weekend in the mountains and allowed us to leave a day early to travel there. By team building read 'drinking and eating till both your head and belly feels like exploding'. It was 'mandatory fun'. Arrgh… Nobody asked ME if this is MY idea of good time. I could spend the weekend observing my colleagues drown their brains in alcohol into a silly oblivion, or I could spend it with a good book, a tray of freshly home baked cookies and a jug of mint lemonade. Guess which one would be my ideal Friday night? Duh!

_Okay Sookie, enough whining!_ I could have faked an impromptu sickness but I didn't. Gritting my teeth and squeezing my eyes shut I thought – _I will try to have fun!_ No, not clear enough: _I WILL have fun for the next three days! I will have fun. I'm having fun already._

Silently shouting my new found mantra, I steered my car towards the road and headed north. The weather forecast for today was brilliant: warm and sunny. _I will enjoy this, even if I have to choke on it._

A deafening roar broke through my self-induced happy mood as a couple of motorcycles cut me off to enter the 'GAS STATION THAT DOESN'T SUPPLY BURN!' which is what I'd named it in my mind. There went my mood, melting just like a popsicle onto the already hot asphalt. Groaning internally, I glance at the noisy horde thinking they were just like wild horses_._ Not that I've ever seen any, but...whatever. Back to the self-pity.

I'll admit I was a little sad that nobody wanted to ride in my car with me. Gosh, I thought, that sounds too whiny even for me. I have a tiny yellow Fiat Panda that doesn't reach racing speeds by any means unlike the luxury cars the others drive. It was better this way, I thought, while fumbling with my DC. As I listened to the sounds of Buddha Bar gently pouring through the radio with its soft waves, I felt it wash away my sour mood. _See? I can listen to whatever I want_. Beaming with pride for finding the sunny side of life again I mentally chanted: _Happy thoughts, Sookie, happy thoughts!_

~o~

I drove at a steady pace, occasionally disturbed by some of the excessively speeding drivers who didn't appear to understand there was a reason for speed limits. I paid careful attention to the road signs so I wouldn't miss the right turn I needed to make since I'm painfully aware that I am perfectly capable of getting lost even on the roads around my home. I couldn't afford a GPS even though I would be in dire need of one if I were to get lost now.

Several groups of bikes passed my car – sportbikes, on/off roads and even some touring ones, but no cruisers yet. What can I say? I have a soft spot for these metal horses and I liked the sight of them.

Apparently this hobby was more in vogue than I was aware given the number of bikes on the road today. I thought it must be a great to travel and since I'm a night owl, I often hear their roaring engines break through the quiet during the late hours of the nights. I sometimes wondered why the police were allowing it, but then again, who could possibly stop them in the metropolitan labyrinth?

I found myself fantasizing about what it must be like to ride one. _Mmm, a savage beast roaring between my legs. Gripping its handle bars like the horns of a raging bull, accelerating to warp speed…_ Snapping out of my reverie I grudgingly came to my senses thinking_ 'That isn't for you, fool! Eyes on the road, Sookie.'_

After about an hour of driving and some searching around Ploiesti I stopped in the parking lot of the hypermarket where we had decided to meet for food shopping. I found the others at a coffee shop and all I was greeted with was "Finally!", "At last", and "Glad you took your time to get here". My coworkers were nothing but pompous assholes and of course, no one had the courtesy to wait for me to get myself a cup. After all, I'm just the secretary.

I wondered why on earth we had to buy food and drinks when our villa had a restaurant. I decided it was probably just because, here, you could buy spirits in industrial quantities. With the open invitation to buy whatever we wanted to eat or drink everyone started to fill cart after cart with meat for the grill, beer, water, sodas, vodka and whiskey. Someone added more vodka and whiskey just to be on the safe side. Apparently somebody else took care of the wine necessity, having already brought along 20 liters of homemade wine in our boss's SUV. Shyly, I added a couple of fruit flavored Belgian beers that I had wanted to try but always seemed too much for my budget and three cans of my energy drink (_Finally!_).

The majority of the shopping bags ended up in my trunk and on my back seats, just because I had no other passengers and only a shoulder bag as luggage. I hoped my engine would be up to hauling this load feeling like an ant carrying ten times her bodyweight.

~o~

Finally made mu way back on the road headed to the mountains. The landscape became greener while the sunflower, corn and other fields were left behind. The flat plains changed into swelling hills that were covered by lush forests. The music playing on the radio seemed too sedate so I changed it to a more energetic station. Once I was able to turn off the air conditioner I could feel my car's 54 horse power engine becoming slightly bolder. Cool fresh air entered through the now open window, gently caressing my skin. Hopefully I'd be able to get some tanning done this weekend. I heard there was a pool at our villa and it was the only thing I was really looking forward to.

Humming contently with the song, 'Fell in Love With an Alien' along with The Kelly Family, I glazed over looking at the beautiful hills and faraway mountains.

_I fell in love with an alien  
Fell in love with her eyes  
Fell in love with an alien  
I'm telling you no disguise…_

A rapidly increasing noise signaled a new wave of speeding motorbikes approaching me from behind. I attempted to maintain my serenity and ignore the noise which was deafening now due to the opened window.

The leader of the pack appeared like a blue flash of light right next to me. I felt like I'd been captured by a tractor beam and I couldn't stop turning my head towards the biker. He was wearing a full face helmet and I saw the blue orb was turning towards me too. Its shield was like one huge alien eye and in that moment, all time and motion froze. You know, like Einstein's theory of relativity? But now wasn't the time to think of it. In the shiny black visor I could almost see my reflection staring back except it was a fiercer version of myself. I felt a shiver start at the base of my skull and descend down my spine, generating small earthquakes on its path.

When the moment was over and he passed me I got to admire from behind the view of his impressive slender form, hugged by the blue armored suit. Quickly accelerating he melted into the distance with his travel companions trailing behind.

When I finally managed to resume breathing normally all I could think was _'What on earth was that?'_

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A/N**__- another one, yes I know…_

_There are links in my profile of how I see the biker (well, by now everybody guessed who is hiding under the blue suit)._

_I'm l__ooking forth for your opinions._

_Disclaimer__: I own nothing but the mistakes in this story._


	2. My Faceless Knight

_Warning – this chapter contains explicit language._

**Fast Approaching Death**

**2. My Faceless Knight**

**SPOV**

I shake off my dazed feelings. I'm really thankful my reverie didn't jeopardize the safety of cars next to me. My whole body tingles softly. _That's strange._

For the rest of the road trip I can't help feeling a bit lightheaded. Other motorbike groups come and go, all of the riders in a hurry to get around me. They just pass me by, unnoticed in my tiny car. There are no more encounters similar to just what happened.

I make another stop, and after first calling for directions, I arrive later than intended at our hotel booked for the weekend.

Sinaia is a beautiful resort, with many historical buildings nestled beside some ugly so-called modern ones. The Villa Domina is in the Italian neo-renaissance style, part of a three villa complex. It's located very close to Peleş Castle, probably the most beautiful castle in Romania. It is also probably way pricier than I could afford on my own. But for our pharma company, such expenses are peanuts.

No one bothered greeting me, but the boys had been waiting for me to arrive. They began swiftly unloading my car, my colleagues treating the beer in my trunk as if it was the last water on a long desert trek.

Beer safely stored, the boys returned to fumbling with the oversized grill, mumbling that the beer was warm. No other girls in sight. Probably they had retired to their rooms, to reapply and repair their heavy layers of makeup. Gran had always told me that make up gives older ladies a younger look while too much makes younger women look older. I had heeded her warning and was always very sparing in my use of it.

I take my bag up to my room to discover that my room is … unusual. Decorated in black and white, it looks classic, but in my opinion, a bit too much on the gaudy side. Since my presence wasn't required for at least another hour I headed in to take a shower. Opening the door, I stood in awe of the marble room and the gleaming Jacuzzi bathtub. I had nothing like it in my house in Bucharest.

The hot water streams felt so good, melting away my fatigue. Mmm… some of them were strategically placed. Feeling a familiar sense of emptiness between my thighs, my hand descended, and I slowly started to pet my long neglected clit. No man had ever been was as nearly as satisfying to me as my imaginary hunks, not that the two short time boyfriends counted as very many.

_What fantasy should come to in my aid at this hour of my need? The long haired elf emerging from the waterfall, wearing nothing but a leaf, as green as his huge eyes? _Scowling: _Legolas had begun to feel a bit juvenile for some time now. The two guys – one redheaded and the other blond and SO into each other? Twi-slash has been fun for a while, but I'm just not feeling it now. I'm in need (ha, ha!) of something new._ The earlier encounter popped up behind my closed eyelids. _Yes! Lots of potential there._

**He is again seated on his motorbike outside my car window. When he goes ahead, and I am able to admire his slender form from behind, he is pointing to the right, indicating I should take the next exit onto a side road. I take the turn, obediently following him until he stops at a fork in the forested road. There is no more traffic here, just the thick relentless march of tall silent evergreens on either side of what has become a dirt track. I slow down and pulling off onto the soft, sound-deadening surface of the forest road and shutting off the engine, I exit the car. Slowly, I move closer to him like one who has been mesmerized. He stays on his metal beast, watching, waiting. I marvel at the sight before my eyes. So powerful and commanding, just like an armored knight on his warhorse. **

**I am close to him, so close. I can smell the hot engine oil and the leather of his suit. I hesitantly reach to touch his helmet but he stops my hand in midair. Seizing me by the waist, he effortlessly lifts me up on the bike saddle facing him. I open my mouth to protest, to tell him that I ache to see him but he silences my attempt with one finger encased in the black glove. Forgetting what I had in mind until now, I take the finger in my mouth and wrap my tongue around it. I close my eyes tightly, liking and sucking it eagerly.**

I suck the thumb of my left hand. It's not the same as the one in my ongoing fantasy but it is a no less arousing thing. Note to myself - _should try to taste leather someday, just for the sake of accuracy._

**He withdraws his finger, and slowly traces with it the outline of my mouth. Then takes hold of my hips, bringing me closer. He is back in his observation mode. I stare at the glass in front of me, trying to see something, anything beyond the shiny black surface sparking under the sunlight filtered by the evergreen's branches. A delicious shudder passes through my body at the thought of what might hide here and what fate awaits me in his unforgiving grasp. I abandon myself, totally opened and exposed. I'm here to be taken. I ache for more. His powerful grip loosens, and I take hold of the handle bars behind me, bracing for the hurricane about to be unleashed on me. **

**One, ah…so big, hand covers my panties. Powerful. Grabbing them. I feel the material being pulled and stretched, over my eager self, applying a terrible pressure to my aching clit. The fabric snaps and the mountain air feels like a wintry blizzard blasting across my overheated flesh. The strangest sensation overwhelms me. The leather-clad hand is cupping my mound, and, it seems my ass as well. Those gloves are designed to grip, steer and tame the roaring motorbeast. And now they are gripping and steering my inner, untamed tempest, rubbing me with maddeningly slow and strong moves. **

**The pleasure giving hand abandons me too soon, leaving my throat choked by the hammering of my heart, and I then I hear it, the faint sound of a zipper. In a deliberately slow movement, the long line of the leather suit in front of me is peeling open, exposing a tight black t-shirt. I don't peak to his south - I love receiving a surprise gift box, properly wrapped. Unwrapping it adds to the pleasure, increasing my excitement at the unexpected pleasure. **

_Wait, could I imagine a leather clad cock? Or is it too much? Is there even such a thing? I remember that the first condoms were something like this. Yuck, too weird. And this is a fantasy, no need of a condom of any kind._

_Why do I keep overanalyzing even my daydreams, my erotic ones no less?_ I smack my head in frustration:_ STOP! _

_But not you, hunky biker boy! Please continue._

Purposely inserting a finger to fill up my empty space, I finally end my inner rambling.

**Silk-like flesh is poking me and begins probing the void only filled with lust until now. And now, ah, now, that lonely space within is filled with the most delicious sensation. Filled and stretched, the empty ache between my legs is long forgotten. Taking hold of my thighs he is lifting me for better leverage, and I impale myself on his pleasure-giving cock, riding it into oblivion.**

Too soon my orgasm erupts. I slip down in the tub, submerging in the water, not caring for a few lazy moments that my nostrils and gaping mouth are flooded, and that I should lift my head up before drowning myself. A quick flash of an obituary floats in front of my closed eyes: _"naked young, single woman drowns in hotel bathtub due to unexpected orgasm."_ Okay, I immediately push past the water line; I'm getting air now, while coughing up a few mouthfuls of the bathtub water. When I can move, even if my knees feel as steady as rubber ducks, I get out of the tub panting, and sluggishly use my towel to mop up the water spilled along the floor.

I feel so happy and relaxed now that I could sleep until tomorrow. Sated. I haven't enjoyed myself so much for some time now. He is a keeper (in my spank bank), my faceless dark knight.

_I will put you to good use again soon. _I think, beaming like a proud momma.

All I want to do now is lie down on my hotel bed and bask in this rare, totally relaxed and contented sensation. But I know I have to go out and mingle with the others from my group.

Since I'm in such a good mood, I choose something less nun-like than my usual attire: a clingy white tank top over a knee-length jean skirt that buttons down the back. And I allow my hair to flow unrestrained over my shoulders, drying naturally.

On the patio, the missing girls from my company are now smoking slim cigarettes while talking about the new garments they bought for themselves, since the summer discount season just started. Stela was parading around in a beautiful white kimono style dress with black cranes she bought during her Milan shopping trip last weekend. The obi, instead of hugging her waist and make a gracious knot at the back as designed, was turned into a big bow pinned in the front. _Hilarious!_ I briefly wonder if she even knows what a kimono is. She probably thinks is an exotic cocktail drink. Ada was proud of her new big rhinestone fake Chanel dangling earrings, and Diana was going on about some fur coat she got at a halfprice shop. I had to be more practical, and could only afford a new lacy bra, but since breast augmentation is a hot topic among my female colleagues, my E cup is something I really don't wish to draw attention to by recounting the details of my purchase.

I looked up to notice that the men are still gathered around the grill. For some reason, grilling is always treated as a manly thing, while they won't even deign to come near a kitchen oven. They're pretending to ignore us, busily emptying small glasses of ţuică (plum spirit) as their laughter reaches out to ensnare the assembled females.

I'm feeling hungry just as piles of steaming trout, grown in local basins, and the even more appealing _mici,_ the juicy cylindrical spicy meat rolls, were delivered by the hotel staff and arranged on trays on the outside tables. I like fish, but not the bones. I always spend an unreasonable amount of time picking the bones out of it, usually dampening my enjoyment of the food when I finally feel safe enough to eat it. But when I don't take the precaution of finding the bones, my tongue ends up feeling like a pin cushion. Mici it is then; I douse it with plenty of mustard.

The villa-sponsored lunch was followed by hours and hours of debate about various business issues. The issues were just remotely of interest to me in my daily duties as secretary to the bunch. I sat in a corner trying to draw as little attention to myself as possible. But as time passed and the topics became increasingly boring, more glasses of wine and bottles of beer were passed around and enthusiastically emptied. I began to feel uncomfortable as I noticed both Miron and Lucian eyes' glazing over as they stared at me. When Bill joined in the leering contest, I suddenly regretted my decision to show any skin.

Groaning internally, I thought - _this is going to be a very long weekend…_

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A/**__**N **_

_My humble thanks to Kjwrit and Scattered21 for helping me to shape my ideas and writing of this story. You should check those ladies amazing stories if you didn't already._

_Against my earlier decision I will use primarily Romanian names since are local characters. Using English names of their SVM counterparts seem off. On my profile page I posted links for the places and things in this story since I doubt my words are evocative enough._

_Since is known that an image is worth a thousand words, there are links on my profile for Sookie's accommodation, Peleş Castle, the forest that is staging her fantasy, Eric's motorbike, Eric as a rider, and others._

_I appreciate each and every review, story alert and favorite story tagging. I'm looking forth for your opinion and constructive criticism. Thank you._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing but the mistakes in this story. Sookie is and always will be her own woman. I'd like nothing more than to own Eric…fat chance with that. _


	3. Saint' Eric

_Warning__: Contains offensive, politically incorrect expressions. This is not a sweet Eric, nor will he be in this story. He is not misogynist, just a cynical womanizer with a dirty mouth._

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**Fast Approaching Death**

**3. 'Saint' Eric**

**EPOV**

I take my luggage from my beauty. She has class, a temper and shaped lovingly in all the right places. I would never grow tired of her. After all these months together I'm still in awe of her responsiveness. She roars under me like no other. With a final pat on her curvy rear I leave her in the parking lot. My pride: the 'widowmaker' Hayabusa, world's fastest motorcycle.

Entering the Foişor Castle, a genuine one, part of Peleş complex that normally used as a protocol place for official meetings, I follow my two companions as we check in.

Politely I dodge Sofia's attempt to hang out for lunch: "Look, I truly appreciate all this but I'm tired. I need to catch up with my sleep hours."

Batting her fake eyelashes Sofia whispers in what she believes to be a seductive manner: "I was sure you would be pleased with my surprise. Here are the activities for the weekend." she says handing me a folded piece of paper. "Too bad you won't join us for lunch. They have a lovely French cuisine in here that just melts on your tongue. Get your beauty sleep, Eric darling. Gather your strength for our dinner tonight, tomorrow's bungee jumping, and any other vigorous activities you might have in mind. Call me when you get up," she concludes, after a meticulous assessment of my ass and a final wink.

She grabs Andrei's arm and drags her boy toy down the hall, swaying her behind, nicely encased as it is by the tight leather bronze pants. She's most likely taking him to her room to drain him dry, starting with his nuts, and ending with his already mushy brains.

Concealing my disgust I go to my own room. I don't want to see her annoying face for a while.

She must have cashed-in some heavy favors to get us in here. She has a thing for the luxury commonly associated with royals and this hotel is part of the Peleş castle. It is a cozy building, and was once the Hunting Pavilion of King Carol the First. I can't stop marveling at its beauty, even if I am pissed off by Sofia's high-handed behavior. Especially with issuing the whole program thing, a written one no less, for these three days! No bedroom activity posted in her damn program, but I bet that is what she meant by 'leisure time'. She's handling me like a fucking escort! I angrily crumple the paper and aim it at the wastepaper basket. I miss.

I reflect again on why I'm here: she got me to get out of Bucharest this weekend by telling me that we will go at the Motorcycle Road Racing in Braşov, and instead it's this now? I really don't like being tricked. I'm the stupid one here; I should have suspected such things from her. Speed riding is my biggest passion; but for her it is just a way to show off her flashy Harley.

Fuck Sofia and her dear Andrei. Well, technically this is something she would want and most likely planned this whole damn trip around. I have indulged her demands a few times, of course, since the bank she runs is one of my Security Company's biggest clients. I need to keep her satisfied, especially now that we are expanding. And it doesn't hurt that she has some decent tits and a tight ass. I'm not much into redheads but she isn't a bad one.

I like the all flavors of women, since I basically gave up on men after _him_. The beautiful women here are this countries best asset, in my opinion. There are so many tempting ones that I can be as picky as I choose to be, since my looks work fully to my advantage - tall fit body, long blond hair, blue eyes unlike the regular folks here. And last but by no means the least my most prized asset: my 20cm [9 inches] cock. I stand out in any crowd.

Even if I'm no Ken, I mostly pursue the Barbie pattern: model-like blond bimbos, the dumber the better. But when I need something more than the rush of a release out of it I ignore my preferences and will do anything walking on two legs. Just NOT when they fuck with me. She'll have to wait, I want her to beg.

~o~

After the room service brunch and a quick shower, I'm officially bored. Maybe a nap would do me good since I went to sleep at an early hour of the morning after a quite satisfying fuck. The buxom brunette, at least a half-blood gypsy was particularly vocal while praising my skills, but her mouth was better put to use at more productive activities

After closing the blinds, I shut my eyes and try to relax. My mind brings out the earlier image of a pair of intense blue eye. That road encounter: a girl that looked painfully like dearest Pam.

Pam, the lifeline of my youth! In my half-asleep state I bask in her memory. I recount her taking a stand for me, yanking me out of that living nightmare that was my youthful years. I recall fondly the patience she showed me when I was behaving like a scared wild animal. The unwavering love she blessed me with. Her sharp mind and the sting of her palm when I got too disobedient. How she fiercely took my part when I was (rightfully, most times) accused of doing the stupid things kids do. How she taught me, using the stick and carrot method, the impeccable manners needed to compensate for my wild nature. The only family I ever had. The sense of loss was dull now, but ever present.

On the road I had to look twice to make sure I wasn't seeing things as I passed that driver, to confirm for myself that it wasn't Pam in that ridiculous yellow car.

But it was just some girl. Blond, tanned, with big blue eyes, much like Pam's. I bet she was a natural blond too.

She was sweet.

I shoo away the memory of her: I _don't_ do sweet. Sweet, little good girls are not really my cup of tea.

I drift off to sleep and into the soothing blue depths of those eyes.

~o~

Coliba Haiducilor _[Outlaw's Hut]_ is one of my favorite places to eat in this area, a rustic, lodge themed place. Its secluded location, on a hill near the resort, secured it against the invasion of loud groups of pounding tourists.

The three of us are seated in a booth under a bear skin sprawled on the leaning wall above. After enjoying the Hut's complimentary drinks – palincă and snack of şorici (straps of salted pig skin) and red onions, a sleazy waiter brought us the menus.

While I was considering what to order out of the venison and traditional dishes I covertly watched my two companions.

Sofia is pointing out to Andrei her favorite dishes. Looks like the process of permanently bonding him to her has already begun. She will brain wash him; change him completely, twisting him inside-out into an obedient pet. She won't stop until he becomes totally addicted to her, ready to do anything for his mistress. Then she will find a new toy. I've seen her doing this to many others over the years._ Sickening! _I think.

Her eyes are sparkling with excitement while talking to Andrei who listens ecstatically to every stupidity issuing from her slim lips. I study his features. He is good looking, with boyish features, probably barely twenty and too eager to please her - just another hormonal young man. I wonder if the experience that Sofia intends for me to grant him will sober him up, or bind him further to her.

_Evil bitch! When compared to her I am a fucking saint. Yeah, call me Saint Eric__ all right! Sure, I use women, and men for that matter, but I always give more than what I take. I'm a firm believer in doing things thoroughly_. My giving nature always works to compel them to return to me, again and again, for more. My long polished sex skills and my half Swedish genes just served to cement my cherished reputation.

Grinning to myself, I order Venison Tartare from the waiter. I grimace, watching him writing the order with a pen that he fished out from behind his ear on a crumpled notepad, as he then scribbles Sofia's selections for both her and Andrei. Boy can't even order his own food!

I glance at the surrounding tables; it is quite packed even if is barely nine in the evening.

The local band of dark skinned musicians is paying special attention to a loud group seated nearby. Probably some executives, by their looks, eager to throw money at gypsy party songs. There are four men and three women, and they seem already buzzed. The men were middle aged, with nothing interesting about them, except a younger one, seated slightly apart from the others like he didn't belonged there. I was annoyed that he was facing opposite me so I couldn't have a clear view of him. He had a small figure and blond hair.

Their women were appealing, tall and slim, but overdressed. It never ceases to amaze me how could anyone choose to wear a tight dress and high heels on a mountain trip. Two of them were black haired – one with long straight hair and a pale complexion, the other one sporting curls and dark skinned. The third woman had bleached almost white blond mousy hair and an obvious fake tan. Quite naturally, all were leering at me at various intervals. I could easily see myself with any of them, even all at once. As the film of my vivid and ever horny imagination started to play in my mind, I start to feel my interest peaking. I quickly tame it; this is neither the place nor the time for this. Sofia will certainly want my undivided attention for herself and her trainee tonight. As much as I would enjoy grinding on her, she is the one paying for this trip.

Our evening progressed, with lots of spicy small talk and jokes meant to loosen up Andre. After finishing my main course I hear the group I previously studied at the neighboring table becoming noisier. Turning my attention to them, I notice that the girls are apparently gone, probably to the restroom to do whatever women do when running in packs. Three of the men are pestering and basically groping the fourth, quiet one. I guess the guy is gay or overly shy and the others are giving him a hart time about it. They seem seriously inebriated by now. Their tone made me aware of the potential explosive problem, so I decided to intervene if things got worse. Steeling myself, I am vibrating with anticipation: _"I do love a good fight!"_

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_Any guesses who the boy is?_

_My gratitude to __**Scattered21**__ for keeping me grounded and editing this story. I also thank each and every one of you for taking time to read it._

_Since I'll be out for a long waited vacation I won't be updating next week. Still, I'm looking forward for your feedback. Thank you in advance for them. I will answer when I'll be back._

_Disclaimer__: I own nothing but the mistakes in this story. *sigh* You know, I used to own a tiny piece of Peleş castle and it's surroundings, because it used to belonged to the state, as in „all citizen's property", which rather translates in no-one's property. But no mor__e:__ the castle was returned to its rightful owner, the former King or România – Mihai Prince of Hohenzollern, three years ago. So yes, not even that...  
_


	4. The truth behind those masks

_I bow before the lovely Scattered21 and Kjwrit for putting up with my endless number of mistakes and my lack of writing experience._

_Warning__: Stop reading this if you want to keep wearing your rose-colored glasses. This chapter contains harsh truths about men. There are exceptions to these rules of course, but in my opinion they are just that – exceptions.

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**Fast Approaching Death**

**4. The truth behind those masks**

**SPOV**

After the long-winded afternoon that I spend as the recipient of too many unwelcome stares from the boys at the business meeting, I change into much more inconspicuous clothing - loose fitting jeans, an oversize light blue hoody, and my hair held back in a low ponytail.

_I loathe their attention! I so wish I could be invisible now, just a fly on the wooden wall_.

Glasses with various spirits are emptying like a charm around me. Have you ever been the only sober one in a group? It's surreal and sickening, like a bad play turning swiftly into a freak show.

I'm trying to blend into the surroundings while eating my papanaşi. I love these sweet cheese donuts with sour cream and raspberry jam. Right now I can't stomach anything else.

Forced to sit with my companions that too quickly befriend the local gypsy music band, singing totally off key along with them, and this place is making me uncomfortable. I don't fancy any kind of stuffed animals, and the lifeless gaze in the glass eyes of the wild boar head above our table, seems fixated on me. _Should I start worrying for my sanity? Guess it is already a bit late for this realization._

I turn to Miron sitting next to me and, in a lame attempt to make some small talk, I ask him about his meal.

"It is deer venison with dried plum sauce. Melts in your mouth, ya know? Wanna' taste of it?" He purrs in an alcohol-laced voice.

Since he is most likely thinking of an entirely different kind of savory pleasure I go for "Oh, I can't eat a sweet Bambi. Makes me so sad! Do you think they were literally hunted for this dish?"

I sounded so ridiculously stupid! _Seriously? Bambi? I love deer but I know these aren't wild ones. Still it's a pity they were sacrificed for this man's plate instead of roaming freely in the woods._

Miron silently shakes his head. I'm not sure if the action is in answer to my dumb question, or just to clear his foggy eyesight.

He is the one that recommended me for this job, a thing that I will be forever grateful for: good paychecks, decent working hours, modern environment, and plenty of career opportunities. The last part didn't matter too much after _the incident_, after which I lost my ambition altogether. Shitty boss – Englishman Bill, but it is not Miron's fault the boss is an asshole. Sometimes I wonder if there is really any other kind?

Miron most likely made this gesture in an attempt to ease his conscious over what happened roughly five years ago.

He was my brother's best friend, and it was in his house the fatal accident happened. It was towards the end of night and their party; they were all stoned since they were celebrating Miron's birthday. My brother leaned against a window while sitting on its sill. But there was no glass to lean into; the window was open to the abyss below. What haunts me is the unanswered question: what were his thoughts on his way down, while falling from that ninth floor? Did his brain scream in fear, did he pray, or had the alcohol kept him oblivious to his impending death? I sigh deeply; it's always hard to remember. And I shall never forget.

I look at Miron and I wonder how guilty he feels about it. He is not exactly a profound kind of person, but I have come to consider him almost a friend. He keeps oscillating between treating me like a little sister and a potential lay, but at least his playful banter is refreshing. For some reason he keeps confessing to me all his sexual adventures. There seem to be so many of those that I am sure he makes up at least a good part of them.

I'm never sure why he tells me all these boudoir stories. Probably because I don't judge, or perhaps in his mind this is a strategy that will turn him into a hot commodity and I'll drop my panties for him. Since in my opinion he has about as much amount sex appeal as a toad, I'd say his strategy isn't a good one. Strangest thing of all is that all those confessions as well as all of the information I got from growing up with an older brother, were eye openers for me to the true nature of men.

Hearing in so many shades the intimate details of people's lives I knew, most of them married ones, in sharp contrast to their impeccable, responsible husband facades makes me realize_**: **__they are all cheating bastards_. Finding out about the sexual adventures they had, which seem like snippets out of pornographic movies… I shudder.

Not to mention the details about Diana, the official mistress, his wife, and the other men's wives. What kind of sick man tells his pals or even me details about how his wife is pleasuring him or her lack of skill in that department?

The truth about men is that they want to stick their cock into _every single "attractive" female_ they encounter. Every single one. They evaluate complete strangers based on which "hole" they'd likely use, and what measures they would need to employ in order to conceal the unattractive features that might make their conquest less enjoyable.

They might not all act upon these impulses but it is in their blood.

Let's face it, men suck, but so do women.

I silently turn my gaze to watch Ada across the table. Ada or rather Adina by her given name, is the gorgeous nymph I longed for years to be like. My best friend since high school was the one I considered my personal idol for reasons I can hardly fathom now. Most likely, it had to do with my desire for a younger, newer model other than my Gran. She had fulfilled for far too long my need for a mother, a sister, and a friend.

Ada suffered from learning disabilities and came from a poor family. I felt sorry for her, and in my inexperience, I helped her to get a job with me. As soon as she smelled the money she turned on me like a shark scenting a seal cub. Today, I'm not sure if it was a mistake after all, as it allowed me to finally see her real, ugly face.

I'd like to blame the loss of our friendship all on her, or fate or someone else. In the end, this is not true at all. I'm solely to blame; I was the one to place her, an empty vessel, on this tall pedestal, and now she quite naturally is looking down on me. When I saw her true nature, my whole admiration shattered into sharp pieces, along with the parts of my soul that she had filled with her fake glow.

She wishes to be called Ada nowadays and I can't bear to call her by her full name, anymore, not even in my mind. My Adela was just a fairy from my happily ever after fantasies.

I'm reluctant now to even wish for more girl friends. Friendship is greatly overrated anyhow, isn't it?

Ada and the other two girls excuse themselves and leave the table heading to the lady's room to freshen up. I imagine they will have a smoke and engage in more chitchat, probably about their 'sleeping' arrangements tonight.

Lucian, left alone and unsupervised by Diana, uses the opportunity to fill my water glass with palincã, and to make me drink up by toasting: "To the best secretary of our company, to Suzana – bottoms up!"

_Yeah, you idiot, out of the infinite number of secretaries you have had – a total of one, I am the best. Ever. _But I refrain from replying and just sample the drink with a weak smile. But Lucian just kept grinning wickedly and eyeing me like a rare steak, inching his chair closer.

"Suusahnah!" Bill whispers while drunkenly smiling to me, and when I say me, I mean my boobs. I often wonder if men remember my face at all, their gazes always seem intently fixed on my generous chest. Somehow he misinterprets my eye rolling as an invitation to fondle me. Again, translate 'me' as 'my tits'.

The situation begins to deteriorate rapidly, especially when Miron seems to forget all about me, the sister, and starts to takes a handful of me, the potential lay material.

I feel paralyzed, overwhelmed by another memory that I tried so hard to bury. The feeling is drowning me and drawing me into that dark place.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to muster my strength to jump off of my stool and stop the advances coming from the three men.

Suddenly I feel movement as unexpected help arrives. My eyes fly open at the welcome last minute reprieve.

Three pair of hands ceases the unsolicited fondling and touching as the girls return to the table, each taking possession of 'her' man. Stela is shooting me angry glances from Bill's lap; Ada makes Lucian to take back his seat and wraps his arm around her waist; and Diana is looking reproachfully at me. As if I was the one jumping their men. ME!

Trying to restrain the teardrops that threaten to overflow the dam, along with a too familiar wave of self-pity, I close my eyes again, shutting the outside world out, as I focus on my breathing pattern – in and out, in and out... After a while I am able to take in the world again.

I shift my position so I won't have to see them anymore and gaze around the restaurant.

My eyes stop on a table with three other diners. One beautiful and elegant redheaded woman with flawless white skin is animatedly speaking to a younger man with dark short blond hair and delicate features, and a striking, tall man, sitting slightly turned towards me. Impossibly long legs in tight dark blue jeans, sealed with a gorgeous silvery hand-crafted buckle belt. My gaze is roaming upwards, over the large expanse of his chest in a black tight t-shirt exuding masculinity. Another marathon eyefuck is just taking in all the length of those arms and hands. The broad shoulders flow into a long neck with graceful tendons, like an Ionic marble column. It's topped with a strong jaw with the most delicious cleft chin, a gift from the Gods. A proud straight Roman nose is the backdrop for firm lips stretched into a slight smile. Gold-like hair framing an impossibly beautiful face, and blue eyes that seem to sparkle, even from the distance. Perfectly chiseled cheekbones made me aware of the sculpture of his bones, as if his bare skull would be attractive. I bet that even after like 1,000 years his remains would be stunning.

A living work of art, almost too beautiful to be real. A God, no, a Man, with a capital M.

I briefly close my eyes just to open them and be inexorably drawn to his again.

Eyes that seem to twinkle with amusement now. Oh no, I've been caught staring. _I never stare!_

His smile stretches into a wide grin as he makes a 'come here' gesture with the long fingers.

_What the fuck! Was I just summoned?_ One second it was like I was gazing at an Olympian God, and in the next second like the ever-frosted snow covered mountain peak melted and poured down over me, bringing both of my feet back on the ground and head from the clouds. Disappointed by my credulity I bitterly ponder: _Gorgeous indeed, but nothing more than another jerk who thinks the world revolves around his dick and all women should prostrate themselves at his feet!_

_No way._ I scowl at him in response, just in time to see him patting the place on the bench next to him. On which I see a very familiar black and blue motorcycle helmet with a dark, impenetrable visor.

_No, this can't be! NO! Not MY fantasy biker!_ I'm definitely seeing things.

I need to get some fresh air. Grabbing my purse I jump to my feet and head outside.

~o~

When the cold air of the mountain night finally fills my lungs I can feel the calmness of the silent night encompassing me in a cool embrace. I lift my gaze and watch the starry sky. Back home I don't have the privilege of seeing them; stargazing is one of the many blessings of the mountains. Such beauty! I would never tire of watching them. Millions of sparkling diamonds and in the middle the Milky Way stretches like an endless road. The infinite space above and around me makes me feel so insignificant along with all of my mundane issues.

I don't want to leave, don't want to go back to the table, the villa, or my entire life.

But the cold is creeping into my bones; the time has come to break my reverie.

Shivering slightly, I return inside.

The table is empty, empty of people and dirty plates. _What? Wait! Where is everybody?_ I want to yell, but the answer is evident: _They simply left. Did they forget about me, or was this done this on purpose? Probably the latter._

Tall, blond and insufferable is watching me again but I just ignore him. I suffered through more harassment tonight that I can handle on any given day. _Enough is enough!_

I curse myself for leaving my car at the villa. We came here using only Sandra's and Diana's cars since the boys knew they would get drunk while the women kept sober enough. In men's opinion it's the only time the women should be allowed to drive, when they are too wasted to do it. I for one didn't want to find myself alone in my car with one of the alcohol filled man sponges so I left my car back too.

I ponder calling for a cab since my car is at the villa, but I dismiss the thought.

I really don't want to arrive back there too soon. It will be better to arrive later, when everybody is in their rooms, either engaged in bedtime activities or passed out from the alcohol. But there's also no reason to stay here and prolong my humiliation at being left behind like an unwanted old dog.

So I square my shoulders and begin dragging my feet back to the exit, starting my long walk back through the quiet, empty forest road.

~o~

The road is dark; there are no street lights in the mountains, only moonlight casting its eerie light on the sinuous path lights my way.

After very few, but long minutes, my pace slow and I ponder going back to the restaurant to ask for a damn cab. Each dark curve of the road ahead is filled with deadly dangers in my imagination. I hear a small crack behind the tree curtain. I freeze on the spot. Then I begin moving again. _How long is it until I reach the resort?_ I chasten myself for not paying more attention to the road while coming, but the combined perfumes of Ada and Diana on the way here gave me a horrible headache in the confinement of the car. Seems this restaurant is deep in the forest, at a far distance of Sinaia resort.

I hear another sound, and I stop again. This time it doesn't stop but escalates into a thunderous roar. A bright light creates ghostly shadows that play a hide and seek game among the trees.

Suddenly the noise stops near me and the shadows freeze. The forest's whispers halt, along with my breath. A tall figure unsaddles from his motorcycle and approaches my motionless self.

The helmet is lifted, and I recognize the handsome stranger from the restaurant. My faceless knight has features now – and his are the very epitome of male beauty.

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_**A/N**_

_I don't claim that what Sookie is saying is an absolute truth. She is bitter and disappointed over experiencing a massive amount of loss and betrayal for her young age._

_Still, many parts of this chapter are based on real life facts. Destiny has more imagination that I could ever ask for__._

_Thank you for reading and, in advance, for reviewing._

_Disclaimer__: I own nothing but the mistakes in this story. I seem to own Ada and Miron characters, which is no joy at all. I wish you for better BFFs._


	5. Little Blue Riding Hood & Big Bad Wolf

_Warning__: Both Eric and Sookie are deep and complex in this story. Neither is telepathic, ingenuous or proper. Eric is bisexual, something that played a crucial part in his life so far. Don't like the idea - don't read it. Those of you who took a closer look at our beloved characters and actors that play them know better than to harshly judge such behavior._

_This chapter contains hints of sexual nature._

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__Fast Approaching Death has now this beautiful banner, by the grace and skill of the amazing greenlemons. You can see it linked at my profile, or directly at http:/tinypic(DOT)com/r/ivveyh/7 Just replace "(DOT)" with "."_

_Also my gratitude to the lovely Scattered21 and Kjwrit for all their help._

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**Fast Approaching Death**

**5. Little Blue Riding Hood & Big Bad Wolf**

Seeing that my help for the blond fellow at the nearby table wasn't necessary was a tad disappointing. But I don't doubt those women had a more effective tactic to relieve the tension in the situation. The three men forgot all about the little guy and turned back to the women.

The small blond guy shifts his position and I get to see his face. Is that a girl? Looks like it.

His or rather her eyes roam over the restaurant, and briefly stop on our group, lingering on me. She seems very familiar and after briefly reflecting on it, I recall: it's the girl in the yellow car that I saw earlier on the way from Bucharest.

A girl very unlike the rest at her table. She's clearly an outsider to their group, and I wondered about her connection to this group. Perhaps she is some intern in the company. I briefly feel pity for her; she looks innocent and out of place in the group made up of white collar schmucks and fancy bimbos.

She is the girl with the blue eyes that haunted my earlier dreams. Sweet features, velvety blushing skin, soft kissable raspberry pink lips. I feel my own lips going dry and wonder if she tastes like raspberry too. Her hair, even when tucked in a ponytail, seems just a shade darker than mine and Pam's. And that undeniable resemblance with Pam again... I feel a pang of sadness at the thought that this girl is here, living and breathing, while Pam is forever gone.

She seems to enjoy looking at my body; nothing really new there since I am the only Alpha male around for hundreds of miles. I flex my biceps a little for her enjoyment and our eyes lock briefly. Perhaps it's just her likeness to Pam, but I suddenly long to have her near me. I silently invite her to join us since she clearly is uncomfortable with her current entourage. Sofia can shove it!

She gets out of her seat but instead of coming to me she moves out of the room.

That's unexpected.

Well, whatever. No point in brooding over some random girl, even if she has this strong resemblance to Pam.

Sofia's pointless chitchat continues uninterrupted. She is not exactly very perceptive, unlike Andre who is eyeing me, curious about my temporary distraction. Maybe he does have some brains, some value beyond what's inside his pants.

Soon the rowdy group gets up to leave, even as I wonder how the men can stand, let alone walk out, as intoxicated as they are this night. _'Goodbye to you, blue eyed girl!' _

A soft moan escapes from Andre. He has his eyes closed and is reveling in Sofia's under-the-table handjob. Licking her crimson lips, she now starts to rub my thigh with her leg. She is definitely in the mood tonight, much more so than I am.

I'm startled to see the girl from earlier coming back in. She stops and looks around, at a loss. I vaguely wonder what she forgot and then watch as she storms out again. I question how it is that I ever mistook her for a boy. Even with her blue hood over her head you can clearly see the generous swelling of her chest and the sensual sway of her hips as she walks out. Probably happened because she looks very much unlike the other women in her group, discreetly instead of ostentatiously dressed.

I can't stay put anymore; I've been seated too long for my liking. I find myself standing and I excuse myself for a smoke outside. Sofia recently quit smoking so she is a living nightmare when it comes to tobacco smells.

Outside I light my cigar just in time to see the blond girl stepping out on the road rimmed by the dark forest all alone. Is she stupid or what?

I really should quit smoking too. This stuff will kill me some day unless a collision with the motorcycle or car, a rock climbing fall, snowboard-jumping, drowning mishap or some avalanche beats the lung cancer. _Ha, ha!_

I savor the scorching smoke accompanied only by cicada songs that reverberate in the quiet of the night.

Returning inside my eyes linger on the bear skin sprawled above our table. There are too many bears roaming the woods nowadays. They are attracted to helpless tourists like bees to unguarded honeycombs. All of those countless idiots that give them food thinking the animals are some big teddy bears have turned them into some daring and bold beasts, who've acquired the habit of accosting passers-by.

And that pretty blonde is walking the mountain road alone, in the middle of the night, like some bear bait. _Right now! _I feel a knot forming in my stomach.

I can't let something happen to her. For the memory of Pam alone: _I can't have that!_

Grabbing my jacket and helmet I lob Sofia a "Thank you for dinner, but I've got to go now. See you at the hotel later." Without waiting for a response I get out of there and hop on my bike.

The adrenaline started to pump even before starting the engine, making me grin. _Who knew that saving damsels in distress could be so exciting? _Before one could spell 'B-E-A-R' I'm going 100 km/h along the mountain road. I won't go any faster or I might miss her on the dark path.

~o~

Just a couple of minutes later I spot a still silhouette, half hidden by the thick forest wall, and stop nearby. Good thing I wasn't speeding or I would have passed by without seeing her.

I slow and approach her with a joke, hoping I'm not startling her.

"What are you doing out here, little red riding hood? You look like the perfect wolf bait."

For a second she gave me a quizzical look, and then hesitantly replied "Sorry, but Granny told me not to talk with strangers."

"We are not strangers, we met before." Twice actually, if I think about it. I cut her attempts to protest "How about if I go ahead to your grandmother's house, eat her and await you in bed?" Not my best line, but it should do the trick.

Instead of laughing she cast her eyes away. "My grandmother is already dead," she sniffs.

Gosh, instead of lightening the mood I managed to say the wrong thing. And now is she fucking crying? I hate crying. Tears only give the others ammunition to cause you even more anguish. And there are also the foul fake tears that most women shed - just another coercing tool in their arsenal. But this one is crying like a little girl that got lost in the woods. Which in a sense she did, and it's making me feel disturbingly moved.

"Please don't do that. Forgive me." So fucking lame! Way to go Northman!

"Sorry, it's been a long day. And it's blue." She attempts a smile.

"Blue?"

"My hoodie," tugging on the piece of fabric in question. Cute!

"Ah, haven't noticed, your blush is such a bright shade of red, which is why I called you that!" I bet she blushes even more now. Regretfully, in the dim light it's hard to discern. "But do you know how many bears roam these woods?" I ask, changing the topic before it gets too awkward.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time." She bites her lower lip. I want a bite of that, too.

"Walking alone in the dark?" I ask her, incredulous.

She struggles with her answer. "Just wanted to arrive back at the hotel later, after all of them had gone to sleep."

"Wild crowd, isn't it?" She just nods, not looking at me, and we remain quiet for few long seconds.

"Team building," she says with obvious distaste, as if excusing herself out of their association. "I understand." I do, those gatherings should be called sex & boozing assembly. I also get that she isn't much into it.

"So, do you want to ride a little? Maybe up the mountain for a panoramic view?"

"With you? Weren't you supposed to be the big bad wolf?" She chuckles: "Oh my, what big teeth you have!"

She seems to start to relax, so I shift closer.

"As you can see there isn't a full moon so I won't change into a vârcolac [werewolf], tonight."

"Or perhaps you are just a strigoi [vampire] who wants to bring me to the world of the undead, too."

"Oh" I scowl, "A stake through my heart is not my idea of a good evening." There are some who still practice of grave pillaging in secluded villages in the country.

I feign being stabbed in the heart in a mocking hurt gesture.

"Then what is a good evening for you?"

"Maybe saving little girls from the claws of mountain bears..." I lean into her and gently lift her chin. Her eyes are wide, but with a guarded look. I search in their depths for her approval to taste her pouty lips. I'm about to sample them as I slowly lean down.

Instead she pulls away, taking a step back.

"I don't even know your name, **stranger**."

"I'm Eric, Eric Northman. Actually riding my bike is one of my favorite activities, along with several other sports." _And having sex, lots of it, is another one. _But I won't tell her that, not yet. "And you are?"

"Suzana Stackhaus," she properly introduces herself, extending her small hand to me.

"Delighted to meet you." I take her hand and a small jolt of current surges at our contact. Damn that static electricity. Her eyes get bigger, but she doesn't take back her hand, which feels too cold and small in mine. Instead of shaking it, I bend to kiss it, in an old fashion gesture that, I am very much aware, makes any woman swoon. Her skin also smells like raspberries. "You're cold." I want to take her in my arms and warm her against my chest.

Instead I take off my jacket and slide it on her shoulders.

She seems surprised but thanks me, clutching it tight and slipping her arms through the sleeves.

"So…"

"So?"

"Want a ride?" She seems hesitant still, and then nods in confirmation.

"Where are you staying?"

"At Lucia Complex. It's quite close to Peleş. Is that convenient for you?"

"Better than convenient, we are almost neighbors. I'm at Foişor, which is practically in Peleş courtyard. Care for some night viewing of the castle? It's on our way anyhow. "

"That would be lovely. Thank you."

I pull her hood off, lightly touching her hair. It feels like heavy silk against my skin. Then I give her my helmet.

Helping her get up on the saddle, I advise her to hold on tight as we will be riding the bike on the bumpy forest road.

Driving without much protection gear is nothing new, but I was caught by surprise at the feeling of being safe that I got from the embrace of her arms around my waist.

The drive takes much longer than if I was making it alone. I don't want to frighten her by being reckless. And the 200 horse power engine that's carrying us can be pretty intimidating on winding mountain roads.

Suzana hugs me tighter, and I feel myself growing slightly uncomfortable in the saddle.

Too soon we stop at the Peleş gates and I go to speak with the guard while willing myself to calm down, hoping to mask my earlier excitement. I still feel the area where her arms held me, tingling in the most pleasant way. Only Pam ever made me feel so good before. I cringe at the realization that I am associating Pam and an erection in almost the same thought. It seems too morally corrupt, even for one such as me.

Entering the Castle's courtyard was no problem since my own company is guarding the area.

We were thus free to walk wherever we pleased. We could have gone inside too, but that meant turning off the security system, plus the longer hike. I really don't have time for it tonight.

We walk around the empty grounds in silence. The graceful castle is beautifully illuminated, the light architecture adding a mystical dimension to the already striking edifice. In the golden light it reminds me of a palace lifted directly from a fairy tale. Suzana seems to forget about everything else and is lost in marvel at its towers and intricate decorations, like a child.

As for myself, I get to admire her without her noticing. She is even more charming up close. In the golden light she looks like a vision of some magical, radiant creature. I wish I could see more of her body, but it is concealed by my jacket and her wide long pants. There is little revealed of her true form, except her hair that she loosened from its bindings at some point, and which now floats in golden waves over her shoulders. I feel at peace just watching her.

My reverie is broken by the unmistakable sound of motors in the distance. Sofia and Andrei must be getting back. I wonder what took them so long. Sofia must think the same about me.

I briefly fantasize about inviting Suzana to join us in bed tonight. But she is a nice girl; I have to keep reminding myself of this fact. She would probably bolt into the night again if I were to make such a suggestion. Good girls are difficult. They want you to play nice, like a well trained French poodle.

And then my mind rebels:_ This is all bullshit! I want to meet her again, talk to her, and not drag her into the mud with me. This is not just some random girl. She feels very familiar to me._ Suddenly_, _I need more information about her.

"Where are you from, Suzana?"

"Bucharest"

"So am I."

"I know."

At my surely very surprised look she adds: "Your motorcycle registration plate."

Observant - another point in her favor.

"Oh. Right. Well, I'm really sorry, but I have to go now." I pause. "But, I'd like for us to talk some more. Sunday perhaps? When you finish your teambuilding." Sofia will become unbearable if I spoil her carefully laid plans for tonight and tomorrow. "May I have your number?"

"I presume you aren't asking me for my dress size, right?"

"Oh, I think I can accurately assess that all by myself. No, just your telephone number."

"Cocky much?" _Oh, you have no idea_. "Why, just want to add it in your little black book?"

"I have no 'little black book'," I scowl. _Only a little Blackberry with a full list of 'convenient' contacts, alongside the more mundane business ones_. Another small detail I intend to keep to myself.

She laughs disbelievingly "Thank you, for everything. You are right, it's quite late. Please take me back to the villa." Did she just brush me off? Maybe she is simply playing hard to get? Yup, that must be it.

"Your desire is my command." Back at the bike I help her get up with an exaggerated flourish. After fitting the helmet on her once again, we hit the road towards her hotel.

~o~

It's a short ride, too short in some ways. I help her from the bike and wait for her to say something.

"Thank you, Eric." She smiles, giving me back my helmet and jacket.

"For what?"

"For rescuing me from the middle of the forest. For loaning me your coat. For the walk around the castle. For bringing me here." I watch as she touches the handle of my bike gently stroking it. I can imagine her soft hand stroking my tool, which instantly hardens.

"How grateful are you?" I whisper, hovering over her smaller form. I'm searching her eyes for a welcoming yielding spark.

"And what exactly do you want of me? Do you think perhaps _I owe you_?" Her voice is cold, and I realize that her hand froze, no longer moving, and her eyes are displaying an icy glaze. I suddenly feel myself sobering up.

"Nothing. Really. Just to meet you again," I say reassuringly while backing away from her, now. "So, what are you doing Sunday? I'll be going to a racing in Braşov, care to come along?"

"Sorry, but we have some scheduled activities. Good night, Mr. Northman, and thanks again." With no further ado she leaves abruptly and enters the quiet building.

What the hell just happened?

I silently wait until I see a new light in one of the windows on the upper floor then, disappointed, I head back to my own hotel where Sofia has her plan in motion. At least I know I am welcome there.

~o~

…

A few hours later I'm standing on the balcony of my room smoking to rinse the foul taste in my mouth.

I left them baking in the afterglow with Sofia snuggling the nearly passed out boy.

Only rarely do I have sex with men any more, but every now and then such an opportunity arises. Popping a cherry_, mmm…_ too good to let it pass. A first experience should be special; in a good way for everyone.

I don't even remember my first time, save for the excruciating pain. I'm doing my best to make amends on life's part. _I'm a fucking hero!_

Young Andrei was exquisite. His blissful, dazed look while riding the waves of orgasms, his cries of ecstasy was a true catharsis for me. But in the end I had to find my own release. And this time the wave of dread that inexorably followed was worse than ever before.

I just might give up on sex if things go on like this.

My only respite was when _he_ was in my life. However, seems that all good things must come to an end. I had ten months of happiness. Only ten fucking months of life worth living.

Now - only emptiness remains.

I want to scream, I want to shout, I want to take the burning shadows out of me and throw it out, in the cold of the night:

'_Godric!'_

But there is no _out_. For me.

Damn him! Damn my whole life!

Here I am now, darkness clasping me inside and out like the curse of the damned.

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_**A/N**_

_Since this is still an Eric/Sookie story, I decided to keep Eric's broad sexuality side a bit shielded in order to spare the tender hearts of the less adventurous ladies here. Eric has eclectic tastes and a very active sexual life. There will be an outtake posted next describing in graphic details his night with Andrei and Sofia. It will also show deeper insights of Eric's emotions, and his past. And as an incentive, a sneak peak of his long lost lover. I kept it separate because it has sexually explicit content, mostly of gay flavor, but some threesome too. If you don't want to miss this piece of slash put me on your author alert. _

_Disclaimer__: __Again, I don't own SVM, neither TB characters. They seem to have a life of their own._

_Thank you all for your time. Please review; I'm curious of your opinion._


	6. Just Jump!

_The outtake of this story, Blushing Cherry is already published. So if you enjoy reading about slash (man/man) action and adventurous sex you will probably like it._

_My gratitude to the beings that grace me and make this chapter possible. Many thanks also to __**Scattered21**__,__** Kjwrit**__, and __**Girl Of Chaos**__. I am humbled._

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**6. Just Jump!**

_**SPOV**_

_Shame. Fear. Relief. _

_Icy blue eyes boring into mine. _

_An impossibly tall savior. My savior__**, **__w__ith dangerously warm lips. Tingling sensations begin in my hands; I'm zapped by a touch and marked by a kiss, on my hand. _

_Warm leather around me. A wild roar of power between my tights. Warm body. _

_Widening grin. Smirk. Smile. Joy!_

Flashes swirls before my tired, closed eyes.

_Then - panic;_

_Twist of my heels;_

_Slam of a door;_

_Fading engine sounds;_

_Silence._

_**Stupid, stupid, stupid me!**_

I toss and turn, completely alone except for this tempest swirling through my mind.

_And the scent of a lingering, heady perfume, which almost dissolved my earlier fears._

Now, I'm just another insomniac drowning herself in a horrid, syrupy flavored beer.

In the silence, I am so alone.

~o~

_**Once again, I see myself in the blackness of the forest.**_

_**All around me there are animal noises – cracks, squeaks, howls. None of them scares me. I am a part of the wilderness.**_

_**In a roar the light erupts from the darkness, bringing him in front of me. Sometimes the gods get it right. Gold glittering in the night frames this living marble masterpiece.**_

_**Strong body, standing tall before me, like a slender tree trunk, a pillar of flesh. Arms clamp my waist, sealing me to him. Lips inches from mine; hovering just over mine. Barely touching, I can almost taste him. Suddenly I get the flavor of them, sweet like wild honey. Instantly, my entire being is sucked into his touch, his mouth, his being. Drifting together, I am thirst and he is my water.**_

_**A taste is not enough, I want all of him; I need him.**_

_**A rush of cold air assaults my rock hard nipples, and I lay breathless, naked and exposed on the lush grass, at his feet.**_

_**Long fingers slipping between my feverish thighs, touching me in a sinful way, and then a single one glissading over my flesh, and probing the most intimate part of me.**_

~o~

Gasping for air I suddenly awaken, my pulse drumming in my ears as I sit up too quickly.

I exhale. Just a dream…

Sighing I collapse back on the bed, back on sheets that are crumpled and soaked in my sweat.

Other sounds assault my hearing now. Birds are frantically chirping outside, cheerfully greeting the rising sun.

It is still fairly early. I hope if I start early, I will have a couple of hours to bask in the sun alone and undisturbed while the others are still sleeping.

Lazily, I pull on my swimsuit and drag myself to the pool. Nobody is around, and I relax on one of the surrounding lounges.

Ah, the blessed rays of the sun warm my skin! Long streaming fingers of sunlight gently caress me and silently lull me back to sleep on the open terrace's lounge chair.

The sky is an improbably blue color and, as I occasionally glance at it, the celestial orb of liquid fire suspended there seems to smirk at me just like my stranger from the other night. Time seems to stretch while my mind floats between reality and dreams.

Fragments of last night's dream pop into my thoughts. Why on earth didn't I give him my number? _**Idiot!**_

~o~

A large shadow looms over me and too lazy to open my eyes, I wonder in my daze if there is a cloud obstructing the sun or maybe, just maybe, my biker is back.

"Miss Suzana, what a glorious day!"

Right away, I felt my insides cringe. Opening my eyes, I see Bill leering, openly surveying my body that is barely covered by my two piece navy swimsuit.

"Morning Mr. Compton," I greet him politely, but closing my eyes. Perhaps he will take the hint and leave me alone. _Please God! _I send a silent prayer skyward.

It is a vain hope...

"Oh, call me Bill, **I insist**. Do you want me to give you a hand with the sun lotion?"

_Yeah, whenever hell freezes over_. "Thank you, Mr. Compton, but I was just about to go back inside." _I'm such a coward!_

"My dear, you are one cruel woman."

He continues to stare openly, shamelessly assessing my curves. I feel the intrusion of his muddy brown eyes on my body much like the clean earth feels the slimy trail left behind by a night slug. It leaves an ache I can feel deep inside, and I choke back a strong wave of revulsion for him.

Does he actually think I might be interested in a man like him? Is he fool enough to imagine I would actually fight with Stela and his wife for his _affection_? Lorena, his wife, is living abroad, in Seattle if I recall correctly. She only visits Romania a couple of times a year, bitching at everybody when she does. Those particular times, his 'official' mistress Stela takes long vacations to escape Lorena's sharp claws and tongue. Of course, since William Compton is a foreigner and has a good salary, there are plenty of other girls jumping at the chance of capturing his attention. But I won't be one of them, _even if he is the last undead man on this planet. I'd rather be alone that give myself to that vile bloodsucker of all that a young girl has to offer._

So I make a hasty retreat in my room, escaping his repulsive stare. After changing into a simple gray track suit I join the others, already gathered for breakfast, or rather lunch since it is noon already.

~o~

Another session of endless business discussions follows. The group worries over the same issues everyone does in our industry, such as how to motivate the doctors to write prescriptions of our products over that of our competitors. And, if extravagant incentives are legal rewards for pharmacists who sell certain target amounts of our drugs? The group excitedly moves on to review means for pressuring the Health Ministry to approve our alimentary supplements as various remedies. They don't stop there, but also explore how best to ban the merchandising of the real natural products which have the same healing properties at a fraction of the price without the side effects of our pills... and so on.

After about three hours that seems to last a century, we are at least finished with this part of the retreat's program.

~o~

Our official program, which I consult frequently to stave off my boredom, has identified this time slot as Zorbing time. Questioning Miron, I learn that Zorbs are some giant plastic balls into which one enters, is locked into place in a small chamber, and then the ball is released to roll down into the valley.

This challenging event is scheduled to take place at Cheile Râşnoavei, not very far away.

I take my own car this time. As I'm passing the Castle, I feel a sudden urge to take a detour by Foişor to see Eric, but I manage to restrain myself in time. Even if I was allowed to enter the premises, and this seems unlikely given that it is a VIP retreat, and if I was able to find him there, then what would happen? Would I have the nerve to tell him I had the most torrid dream about him? That I want him to ravish me?

_Exactly! Maybe in another life!_

He mentioned some race in Braşov on Sunday. Maybe I could swing by. Then again, maybe not. There is no way to cover the fact that I would have driven 20 km in the opposite direction, just like that, just to see him there.

_Right!_ He probably has a wife or a girlfriend already. He is too good-looking to be single. Or perhaps like too many men, he has more than just one of each.

_Just forgetaboutit already, Sookie!_

~o~

Fairly soon our group of cars enters the narrow valley.

The road is guarded by the massive stone walls of the gorge, breathtakingly ascending to the sky. Only the Chamois antelopes would dare to climb the breathtaking height. And yet, right in the middle of the majestic stone, there are dark black twisted cables, appearing like a Tyrolean traverse rope bridge.

Nearby, on a gentle slope, I can see a couple of men milling around, and what appears to be one huge transparent bubble. It's the Zorb ball.

I hang back from the group eagerly exiting the cars. I'm watching Bill, who like a true boss leads the way, being the first to be locked into the bubble's inner chamber. I observe him as he slowly rolls down the slope of the valley that loops along the road. Midway to the bottom, it unexpectedly rolls to a stop. I have to bite the inside of my cheek not to burst out laughing, seeing the boss hanging upside down with his head twisting back-and-forth, like a oversized bug helplessly pinned in a spider web.

Looking closely at the suspended cables, I can see something that looks like a tiny rope basket rising, guided by a vertical rope. A cord dangles below from the strange-looking basket. Two peoples look to be standing in the basket; I notice that one of them is shirtless. Maybe they are some kind of mountaineers? Climbers perhaps? Whatever it is, it fascinates me.

Turning back to our group, I see Bill-the-bug emerging proudly from his plastic globe.

I briefly wonder how small his balls might be, since he needs to show off in such an oversized one. This thought alone does wonders for my mood. Or perhaps he is in need of at least one ball since he is such a prick! I snicker quietly at the wicked imagery that my overactive imagination brings to mind.

Meanwhile I've been keeping an eye on the basket. Why am I calling it a 'basket?' It looks rather like a huge, man-sized bird cage. Slowly it advances forward across the chasm, stopping right in the middle between the two mountains and suspended over the valley.

Suddenly the shirtless man jumps with a loud cry. My hearts stops in my chest as I gasp in horror. It resumes beating again after I notice the elastic cord that is tied to his legs.

Bungee jumping!

He flies like a bird, with a wild roar that explodes in countless echoes, sending back a cacophony of sounds courtesy of the chasm's near-perfect acoustics.

Now, that is something else! There is no crane, no scaffold. Just ropes, a harness, and the wilderness between the two sheer faces of the mountainsides.

Meanwhile, back at our soft, spongy adventure, the group's single females circle around Bill. Shrill female voices echo in contrast to the jumper's earlier roar, the women's noises alternating between marveling and gushing over his 'bravery.' I note they are careful to confirm they don't have to participate in this 'sport,' and for once I am glad to be included in 'the girls club.' The slow moving bubble is beyond ridiculous.

Lucian goes next, but all I care to watch is the jumper, who is being slowly lowered back to earth along with the bird cage mobile platform above him.

Leaving the others behind, I walk closer to the bungee's installation base, a simple wooden dais and some ropes. It is tucked into a narrow outcropping on one of the stone walls.

Near it I can see a woman and a young man waiting for another jumper to take his turn; I guess they are most likely the next in line to jump.

Closer now, I'm surprised to see the couple are Eric's former companions from last night. With that, comes the realization that the shirtless man I just admired jumping was a certain blond hunk. A hunk has just been lowered on the wooden consol and is now grinning at me like a Cheshire cat.

_Oh, my!_ He looks just like a god descended from the sky. Literally. And he is so much better looking in the sunshine, with his golden sparkling hair, disheveled despite once being held in a loop at the base of his neck, bright eyes and angular, manly features. Not to mention his strong tall body. _Half naked body_, with lean but well defined, drool-worthy muscles that glisten with sweat, like some Twilight vampire sparkling in the sun. I also can't help but admire his matching long limbs and long fingers. I'm sure my eyes are lingering way too long on him, while he catches his breath lying prone on the wood dais, his unsteady condition one of adrenaline induced euphoria.

"Hello little girl!" Delivered in a husky tone, his voice must be rough from screaming during his free falling.

Seems his forwardness wasn't fazed by my rudeness last night. I feel a rush of shame over my own behavior. He selflessly came to my aid, and in return I was incredibly ungrateful and unmannered. The shame brings a flush of heat in my cheeks, and I look down, refraining from fanning myself to relieve the effects of my blush.

Those long fingers and arms are stretching towards me now, bringing back memories of that scorching dream that visited me last night. I feel my blush turning hotter and likely making my skin pinker.

My throat feels dry and constricted and all I can manage to choke out is a squeaky "Hi!" _Pathetic._ Glad I managed to speak some, or at least emit something that sounds normal

I'm stunned when he grabs my hand, and begins rubbing small circles with his thumb over the back. All I can do now is to stare back into his icy blue eyes and luxuriate in the warmth that the skin contact ignites in me

"This is Sofia and Andrei. And this is Suzana," he says, making the basic introductions with a casual smile fluttering at the corner of his mouth.

I managed to squeak out two more hellos. _Really__ pathetic_.

The woman, Sofia, looks at me politely, weighing me with her sharp eyes and restrained smile. I doubt I have much of value to offer on her scale. In contrast, Andrei smiles quite openly at me, and then turns to Eric in approval. I wonder if he is Eric's younger brother: both are blond and so friendly.

"It's my turn now," Andre broadcasts his excitement, and with a bounce in his step, races to have the harness strapped in place on him with the help of the two assistants.

I stare in wonder as he is lifted high between the rocky vertical cliffs. Seems to take so long to reach the necessary height, and then to be pulled to the center of the horizontal cable suspended over the canyon. I know what's coming, but I still suppress my scream as he plunges down, towards the road and the river below, bouncing, stretching the cords and yelling.

The scene floods me with visions of my poor brother. He had also fallen from a great height, but without the lifesaving cords, and never bounced back. Had he experienced the same sensations as Andrei? What was it like to see the ground rushing towards you? I briefly imagine what Andrei must have felt as he fell, knowing he would have a safety net, and realize something important.

I want to try it.

I _have _to try!

"What's stopping you?"

I'm startled to hear Eric's encouraging response to my silent longing, voiced in a low tone so the others won't overhear. Or perhaps I voiced my thoughts, unaware I was even speaking. Looking in his eyes I am positive that he isn't mocking me. Could I dare to do it?

The silence stretches on, nearly as long as Andre's cord now. I know I should decide and speak up any time now. But I just can't get the words out.

"What if I go all the way up there and just chicken out?" I voice my fears instead, frightfully looking at the small basket. It is a dark speck in the middle of the sky.

"My treat. Look, this is how we will do it. You go up there, no strings attached," he says grinning at his own joke, "and, if you manage to do this, you owe me a favor."

"What kind of favor?" I can't help the apprehension in my voice.

"Not much. Just come with me tomorrow to the motorcycle race in Braşov."

"Only that?"

"Just that."

"And I will pay you back tomorrow for the cost. I don't have much cash with me."

"If you insist," he replies with a heavy sigh.

"I do," I mumble.

~o~

So here I am, half an hour later, at 160 meters [over 500 feet] in open air, standing in a rope basket that hangs suspended by a couple of thin ropes, right in the middle of the deep valley and high above the road. Lacking any sensible judgment, I watch with fascination as the cars of my coworkers pass below me, looking small like some miniature toys, becoming even smaller as they vanish on the sinuous road, rushing back to the hotel. I'd first said a brief goodbye to my astonished colleagues, half of whom looked at me in admiration. The remainder's expressions were less reassuring; several no doubt thought how inconvenient it would be to hunt for a replacement for my position if I didn't survive the experience.

_Yay_ for me!

Tightly bound with the elastic cords, my fear at actually doing this is severely constricting my breathing: it feels like several great bands are wrapped tightly around my chest. Eric is positioned directly behind me. And yes, still shirtless, and holding me tightly. _Yay_ again for me for not fainting from just this circumstance alone! Apparently Eric is well known at this facility, so he is allowed to be my jumpmaster.

My eyes close, and, somehow, I start to relax, soaking up his heavenly scent. For reasons that elude logic I feel safe. Safer in fact here, in the middle of a void, suspended only with a thin rope, than I have ever felt since Gran passed away.

A warm breath in my ear whispers, "A tip: don't look down. Just let it go. And jump."

I don't want to jump. I don't want to leave the warm and safe cocoon of his arms. But I do want to be proud of myself; I want him to be proud of me. But where's this urge coming from? I've no idea.

What I do know is that if I won't do it now, I won't have a snowball's chance in hell of anything faintly resembling self esteem.

Standing on the edge of the abyss, this is my one shot to face my demons, to face my deepest fears.

I know with every fiber of my being that I have to do this. This is my chance. The chance to redeem myself from the lesser being I have somehow become. Who I was is suddenly no longer of consequence. All that matters is the here and now. And now it is time to let go. And to be reborn.

My heart swells in my chest, thanking God and Eric for this unexpected, unique chance. Is it truly now or never. _I know it._

Eric's hand is holding my waist, and God is reaching out to me from the void.

The man's arms are releasing his embrace of my waist. One hand brushes unabashedly down over my buttocks, gripping me tightly and creating waves of delicious tremors in my body. The other hand is gently taking hold of my cheek, twisting my face back to his, and a soft, warm mouth brushes mine, stealing a brief kiss.

With wide eyes now I look at his widening grin. He nods, and I love seeing myself reflected in those ardent blue eyes. His sweet taste lingers on my lips.

Despite Eric's advice, I keep my eyes wide open, raising them to the sky, taking in its beauty, its celestial grace permeating my entire being.

I hazard a second look down, and it is like looking Death in the face. All my buried fears suddenly burst forth, squirming and attempting to bite me with what feels like thousands of dark, sharp tentacles. Only I am there no more, I am no longer that person. I am no longer afraid.

My surge of courage feels like waking up from a life-long nightmare, like coming back to my real life. I have dissolved my old being. And now it is time to see who I really am.

For I am fear personified _no more._

I can feel all the blood surging inside my being, pounding and thundering through my veins. I can feel tears oozing, washing over my features in a cleansing stream. It is as if flood gates have opened wide inside me, marking the gateway to my blood, making a passage for my soul. All it takes is a step, and I will be flying through this opening. Beyond this threshold, my true self awaits. To reunite with her, to finally be whole again.

I let go of the cage's net.

I let go of everything. And I joyfully embrace it all.

A step. A jump. And I am flying.

Flying downwards, and soaring upwards.

Expanding.

Floating.

No longer 'up' and 'down,' there is no longer a 'me'.

Only exhilaration, and the sound of a heart frantically singing. Wild cries of abandonment, of becoming one with the wind.

Something is boiling deep in my core, swelling, bubbling, expanding. Pure joy. Light itself running through my veins, through every cell, bursting out.

Freedom!

* * *

_**Author's Note:**__ Enjoyed it? Please review._

_If you want to see it there is in my profile, and if it works here too, a picture and a video of persons jumping at this particular place. Persons I can easily imagine to be the Eric, or the shirtless Eric, to be exact._

.ro/images/media/sports/bungee-jumping-cheile-rasnoavei/1251196792_

.com/watch?v=GwVxqg61hoE&feature=related


	7. SuperBiker

**_A/N_**

_Writing this chapter, the longest so far, felt like it took forever. I had no idea that the world I determined to give my readers a glimpse into is such a specialized subject. The sport of motorcycle racing, and all things related thereto, isn't something I think about every day in my native language, let alone in a second language. I've given everything I have to make this a memorable experience for you, and I sincerely hope I won't make a fool of myself. There are many fascinating technical details mixed into this chapter, neatly garnished with a twist of lime._

_My utmost appreciation goes out to_ **_Scattered21_** _who had a fantastic contribution to this chapter, and **Girl Of Chaos**, for assisting me with technical issues and demanding a competitive Eric._

**_Disclaimer: _**

_Nothing recognizable, including the characters, is mine. I lay claim to just the plot and Eric's victory in the race. And both are delicious.

* * *

_

**_Clarification of the timeline, which, along with the race regulations, can be confusing:_**

_Eric and Sookie had their first encounter Friday morning, on the road from Bucharest to Sinaia. The same evening, Friday, they met at the Cabana Haiducilor restaurant, outside Sinaia. He picked her up from the dark forest road, and after a detour at Peleş Castle, Eric dropped her off at her hotel before sharing a night of passion with Andrei and Sofia. _

_Saturday morning he goes to the race track in Braşov to sign in, then perform the practice laps required for registration. After the next round of laps, the qualifying ones by which he earns his place in the starting grid, he roars back to his hotel in Sinaia, adrenaline surging. He somehow persuades both Sofia and Andrei to accompany him to Cheile Râşnoavei for bungee jumping, just because he likes having an appreciative audience. After his plunge he sees Sookie who had arrived earlier to learn Zorb rolling with her work colleagues. He dares her to take a jump, too. She does._

_Sunday is the actual race day, with warm-up laps and the two rounds of the race.

* * *

_

_Finally, the chapter:_

**7. SuperBiker**

**EPOV**

_Saturday morning._

Passing by Suzana's hotel at the crack of dawn this morning, I briefly consider stopping in to leave a message for her at the front desk. I'd thought last night I'd really like to see her at the race tomorrow.

But I waver just long enough that I miss the hotel's turnoff; purposely, I think. I suppose I resent her hot-and-cold attitude towards me last night. Is she trying to shake my confidence?

Instead I settle in for the long ride to Ghimbav, a small German town with its heavy fortified buildings, that hosts the airport, situated near the historical Braşov, where the race will occur tomorrow. I need to arrive early today to register, meet with my crew, and complete technical inspections. Then there will be time for a practice lap or two before the qualifying ones that will establish my place in the grid.

Several hours and many rounds later, I have secured a good place in the starting grid, as expected, the second in the leading platoon.

Two more competitions remain, including this one, for the National Championship. Last year I finished in second place, which is not good enough for me. This year, if things continue to go my way, I will finally be the national champion in the biggest class, the Open Superbike, the uncrowned king of motorcycles. I idly wonder if Suzana will be in the crowd tomorrow, watching my triumph.

I return to Sinaia to collect Sofia and Andrei. At my insistence, we leave immediately for the nearby bungee jump facilities. I'm desperate to blow out some of the tension coursing through my body after a morning spent piloting my bike safely between lesser riders. And once again, I find the woman from last night planted firmly in my path.

~o~

As I wait impatiently for the bungee basket to return me to the surface where Suzana stands after her jump, I reconsider my earlier reluctance to become involved. I have to admit, it is good to see the petite feisty blond here at Cheile Râşnoavei. I allow myself to recognize that it is better than just good; in truth, it's a treat!

It might be easy for others to overlook her, I muse, unless you have a trained eye, such as myself.

Flashy outfits and makeup haven't fooled me for some time now. I am good at identifying when a pushup bra will reveal a pair of lackluster breasts and make my apologies early as I'm out the door. And I don't really care for women tottering around in unstable heels. What can one man do with giraffe legs? Make a double knot? Not me. What I do care about is between them: THAT is what I want to find tight and welcoming.

Also overrated is a small waist and narrow hips, the fashion today; Suzana's slightly plump figure has many advantages in my world.

Although I have yet to hold her, I'm also sure she has nice tits, and guessing from the shape of her luscious mouth, a hot pussy underneath that shapeless gray cotton. But, surprisingly, I find I like her unusual personality best, even if she can be disconcerting at times.

She is sweet, sweet enough to eat. Just the sort of thing I would gladly do for her.

Especially as I have a better insight into her earlier hot-and-cold behavior. When Andrei made his jump, I saw the flicker of a haunted, empty look cross Suzana's features. It was readily recognizable to me, a shadowy sorrow I had observed many times darkening the features of Alcide, Tray, and especially my Godric. When I questioned them about it, each man had eventually admitted he was reliving painful, raw memories of the war.

But Suzana seems far too ... young? innocent? to be marred by such grief. At that moment, still high on adrenaline from my jump, I would have done almost anything to make her smile again. She does have such a charming smile. One I know I want to see bloom again and again on her lips, just for me.

I still don't believe the courage she just displayed! When I saw her looking down I was certain she would be too frightened to do it. Knowing she'd need a distraction or she'd change her mind, I had very impulsively kissed her, her lips parting in astonishment as I pressed home my advantage. It was a shock how much I enjoyed it; discovering she tasted of just-picked raspberries and icy mountain streams. I'd wanted more, but hanging in a cage as Sofia watched with interest was neither the time, nor the place. I was amused that both during and after our kiss, she kept her eyes wide open, a blazing blue fire that threatened to ignite something in me.

And yet, she hadn't faltered; had in fact, jumped, flying like a thing possessed into the open air, my hands instinctively reaching for her as I saw her spin away from me.

Of course it was her first jump, and each one will be easier than the last, but the feeling before the plunge will never be as intense for her as the first time. And I was there to experience it with her.

As I glance around at the narrow rocky valley and the sparsely forested areas below, I notice that Sofia, Andrei and their motorbikes are nowhere to be seen. I snort, guessing at the reason for their early departure: Sofia knows all-too-well the adrenaline from our activities should be plenty to keep me warmed-up for a couple of days. Which is inconvenient, as Sofia now seems reluctant to share Andrei with me. Apparently he was so enthusiastic about the whole experience last night that she has become jealous. Not that I would be all that interested in stealing away her new blushing boy toy. Even if he is a bonne bouche.

Maybe Suzana will have a change of heart towards me. She too will be high for a day or more from the endorphins generated by her leap. That might work in my favor. But I can't follow up any on my hopes for the girl any sooner than tomorrow.

Tonight must be an evening of rest and recuperation. I have a race tomorrow, for fuck's sake! I'm about to be named Champion in the Superbike.

Today I need to return to my room early, and avoid any more strenuous bedroom-related activities.

In fact, experience has shown me that bungee jumping served to relax me more than extra hours of sound sleep. And the added euphoria from it will only sharpen my senses.

I focus again on Suzana, observing her closely as she staggers about on the ground below me, safely back at the base of the mountain. Suddenly, I find myself shouting orders to the rope handlers, impatient to get back down. Tracking her from above, I leap the last few feet to swiftly follow after her retreating shape, eventually lowering myself beside her exhausted body, lying on the wooden platform to recover.

Flushed checks, harsh breathing, disheveled hair - ecstasy makes her flourish. I imagine this is how she must look like after having mind-blowing sex. _Administered by myself, of course._

She appears dizzy, which is normal after the Bungee-experience. So it's my pleasure to embrace her, listening to her heartbeat slow, until she appears more coherent.

"Did you enjoy yourself, Suzana?"

"Mmm... Aha..." Guess she isn't too articulate yet. I definitely want to bring her to this state again, soon. _In a bed, on top of a table, in the shower..._

Damn, I am getting hard again!

This woman is so embedded in my thoughts, I keep forgetting about the race tomorrow. I remind myself that I've had more than my fair share of excitement before it. I should be focusing on cooling down.

Her words unexpectedly pull me out of my lustful reverie: "You can call me Sookie. My friends call me Sookie, as does my family." She pauses, still slightly breathless. "My brother was the first one to give me that nickname… Although I have very few family members left to call me that anymore. And even fewer friends." She is rambling now. I wonder if she is aware of how much she is revealing to me.

"Okay... Sookie." _Funny name! "_Do you think you can walk? Or at least drive?"

"I guess so. At least I can try to."

"I'd take you but I had my bike adjusted for the race. The passenger's foot stand had to be removed."

"Just gimme a minute. Or, come to think of it, an hour..."

"No problem. Relax." I placed my chin on top of her head, inhaling her relaxing sweet scent, and we both fall into a sort of downtime.

~o~

Eventually, after about an hour of sitting in silence, we are once again on the move, I on two wheels, she on four. She has this tiny car that looks, and moves, like a yellow tin can.

Her colleagues are already gone off to some club when we arrive back at her hotel. Much better this way, I think, than to see those sorry asses again. And, even better, there is plenty of grilled dinner leftovers for us to eat.

So, as I am never one to refuse a free meal, I end up wolfing down a huge steak while Suzana, pardon, Sookie nibbles on a chicken leg and some salad.

While we sit on the patio, enjoying our meals, and the view of sun setting behind the mountains, I have the opportunity to learn a bit about her work. She seem much more intelligent and qualified than her menial secretary position would warrant. I also confirm that she is mostly alone in the world, and that she isn't seeing anybody. Usually I don't care about these facts since I am not interested in anything long term. But this girl? She is nothing like the 'dollar a dozen' types I mostly encounter in clubs and at races, either.

When the hour turns late, with only the moon shedding light upon us, I'm astonished to realize I've forgotten all about the competition the next day. Regretfully, I excuse myself, first inviting her to come to see me tomorrow, giving directions and exchanging telephone numbers, 'just in case,' without any argument this time from her. Feeling I've made progress, especially as she seems quite attracted to me, I tell her again I'm glad we shared the intense experience of bungee jumping. After murmured wishes for a restful slumber, and a lingering kiss on her hand, I politely leave her in the lobby, and head back to my hotel, eager to collapse for the night.

~o~

After an uneventful night, I am awakened by the annoying buzzer on my cell phone's alarm. Sunday morning, finally! The day of the race has finally arrived. With little time to spare, I decide to take care of my almost painful morning wood in the shower.

This time I hope my dark-eyed ghost will spare me another manifestation as I relieve myself. But a certain blazing blue eyes and golden hair would be more than welcome in my shower this morning.

I close my eyes while soaping my chest. I can easily imagine a woman's small hands caressing me. Her fingers ghost over my nipples that harden under the cool rivulets of water that hit them. With increased pressure she circles them, then catches the left one with her lips, sucks it lightly and flicks it with her hot wet tongue. With a quick bite down on tender flesh, she releases it just as I moan.

I can _feel_ the warm tip of a tongue instead of my fingertips trailing down my abs, dipping in my belly button, before making its way through the dark blonde path leading to my aching cock.

I picture a generous shaped form, _her_ on her knees before me, her large round blue eyes shielded from the cascading water off my body, looking up at me. She wordlessly pleads with me to take me in her mouth. The cascade of her golden hair is slicked back from her face in long dripping strands over her shoulders, tantalizingly framing the top of her round tits. My fist tightly grips my stiff erection and starts to pump it with long rhythmic strokes. In my mind's eye, it is not my hand, but her full lips wrapping around by cock, bobbing her head up and down on my length, never taking her eyes off mine. She is so beautiful like this, and I feel myself becoming even harder, if that is possible.

Suddenly the image coalesces into a vivid vision of Suzana. It's her intense blue eyes locked on mine, her golden wet locks sculpted invitingly, and her red lips surrounding my cock. She feels so perfect here, in my shower, at my feet that I moan loudly as I imagine it is my Sookie who is moaning around me. With my left hand I cup my balls, seeing nothing but her in front of my closed eyes. One tug and I come hard, harder than I usually come by myself, spasm after spasm that feels like shock waves sending my spunk towards my fantasy partner, in long pulsating bursts, coating the blue tiles, as I gasp for air in the steamy stall.

Recuperating as quickly as I can manage, I rinse myself clean, washing my hair with the hotel's complimentary scentless shampoo. Drying off, my hair still damp, I dress quickly, grab my bags, a quick breakfast, Espresso coffee and some omlett, and then check out of the hotel. In less than twenty minutes, I'm headed out to the Braşov airport for today's race.

My thoughts focused on the race now, I still spare a few for my imaginary shower companion, hoping she will come to the race for me. And who knows? Perhaps after the race, she'll come for me in more ways than one.

~o~

At half past seven, I am waiting in the Paddock to meet up with my crew. After changing the tires and completing the checklist for the necessary final technical adjustments, I am ready for the warm up rounds. Still no signs of my crew, though. Searching the crowds for a familiar face, I catch sight of a small figure with long blond hair, and my heart leaps before I realize it isn't her.

My crews finally arrives, apologetic with anecdotal excuses about traffic delays, parking problems, disgruntled wives, and more. I've already tuned them out, my focus now on what I must do today.

And it begins.

At the signal of the green flag, we riders cross the Pit line, following behind the event's official lap car for a warm-up round. I am pleased to confirm that my Busa is running smoothly through the mandatory sighting laps, that had to be performed before the actual race.

I'm wearing my usual race number - '69', evocative of my skillfulness as a lover, a small luxury for which I have paid a premium to the race's handlers. Actually, the whole motorcycle hobby is an expensive one. Motorbiker racing is not a high profile sport in Romania, and sponsors are scarce. The sport's prizes are less-than-substantial; good thing my own company sponsoring me and I have Sofia's technical support.

After completing the warm up laps, I spot Sookie standing alone when there is a break in the crowd. She looks stunning today. I quietly whistle as I take in her tanned legs and her generous curves, emphasized in a form-hugging jeans skirt and a white top. Her long, blond, wavy hair is shining under the strong mountain sun. My day suddenly gets brighter.

"Hi! I'm glad you came." I say, walking towards her as I remove my helmet. She is watching me carefully with big, childish eyes.

"Impressive," she admits grudgingly, barely acknowledging my greeting. I know that such a gathering of horse power and testosterone can be an overwhelming sight. So I just nod, trying in vain to conceal my grin. There is a reason why so many guys choose motorcycles. The big machines with powerful motors are both impossible to miss and blatantly suggestive when cranked between a man's legs. Not that I personally would need any help in that department. My motorbike is just an expensive accessory.

"So, this is the next-to-last event in the Second-ranked National League, Individual Championship. You may not know that these races can only takes place on airport runways."

"Why only at airports?"

"Because they have the only suitable tracks available. The First-ranked National League events are held on real racing tracks, but there isn't a facility that meets the specifications here in Romania yet. So those races, or rounds as they are called, are only held outside the country on the Formula 1 race tracks in Hungary, Slovakia, and Greece. Even the training rounds must be held there. Making trips to those venues would take too much time and money. It' not like I make a living out of this; it's just an interesting distraction." _That I intend to win! Plus these competitions offer more than enough head rush and hazard for me._

"You missed the juniors and the scooter class events, which were held earlier today. The next races, starting soon, will be the Supermoto Seniors, with three different categories - Pro S3, Pro Open, and Hobby. The last one will be the Superbike Open Hobby, only for experienced, qualified seniors, like myself. There are four rounds in total; this is the third. The National Champions are selected from the circuit participants with the most points in the four races spread on a twelve month period. At each round there are two races, the combined results will designate the winner.

She seems genuinely interested so I continue:

"My Suzuki Hayabusa, which is Japanese for falcon, also known by its serial designation GSX1300R, isn't a regulation racing motorcycle, like the Suzuki GSX1000R. Because of my Busa's superior displacement, it is relegated to the Open Class. She should be in a class all her own, of course, especially since I intend to add some Yoshimura race cams before the next round… "

I go on excitedly, sharing some of the other technical details about racing procedures, and how I intend to further tune my Busa, increasing its power. As her eyes haven't glazed over yet, I finish her education on my favorite subject with the hope that Sookie will understand at least a bit of what I am ranting about. _What can I say, It is a real passion for me. My Hayabusa is Speed in all its glory._

During our rather one-sided conversation, my mates for the weekend, Sofia and Andrei, drift up and no doubt benefit from the event details I am sharing with my new friend.

It is clear by his demeanor that Andrei is excited by the whole racing environment, and like Sookie, is a greenhorn at such events. When there is a break in the conversation, I learn that the Yamaha Fazer he owns is a secondhand, which he bought last summer. "A good choice," I tell him. I can easily see him entering the competition next year, especially if he sticks with Sofia that long.

During our conversation, Sofia sneaks off and somehow manages to enter inside the restricted perimeter pushing her Harley. She knows it is in direct violation of all the rules, even for one of the race sponsors. As a small crowd gathers around her silvery V-Rod, I catch her smirking at me. With Sofia, her actions are always some combination of furthering her business and being the center of attention.

Eventually we walk to the Paddock, where we introduce Sookie and Andrei to my technical crew, which consists of Dan and Marius, two mechanics from Sofia's Harley motorcycle service. They are both very skilled technicians, and, thanks to my modeling contract with Harley-Davidson, I only have to pay them a quite insignificant fee for their services.

~o~

The six of us enjoy a light but delicious lunch, some take away from a Serbian restaurant, graciously paid for by Sofia, and comment endlessly about the motorbikes and their riders. After watching all the other races, happily without any major incidents, other than a couple of abandons due to technical issues, and a disqualification for doping, it is finally time for the Superbike Open Hobby, the last class in the race.

I steer my baby up to the grid, and take my position, the second place in the first row of the 4-4-4 echelon, waiting for the raise of the red flag, the signal of the start.

It is a false start because the rider to my left anticipates the start, and he is forced to make a ride through as we retake our starting positions. I catch the wave of the red fabric at the optimum moment and use the advantage to assume the leading position.

The first lap is always important because here you get to establish, or in my case, to maintain a leading position in the first group. My faithful motor responds beautifully, with the fire and precision of a young Arabic mare. Her hot, powerful body roaring under me is tremendously empowering.

How I enjoy the fluidity of leaning into the curbs, the braking by simply rising to take the wind in my chest! I truly thrive on feeling like a falcon gliding on wind currents on my Busa. Unsurprisingly, I finish first in this first round.

The second round doesn't begin as well for me. After running in second place for nine laps, behind Bogdan Vrăjitoru, my main competitor to the champion title, I finally force my way out into the lead, leaning in to the point of insanity at a sharp right turn, scraping my suit at my left knee on the concrete in the process. Having stolen the lead, it is time to give 1,000 percent! My heart is pounding so fast it seems to be on the brink of exploding. I feel my teeth clenched and almost hear them gritting. Eyes are narrowed on my target ahead. It's tunnel vision in the extreme, with my only exit crossing the finish line in first place My will, my mind, my entire being is focused on only one thing: **seizing victory**!

In a few short minutes, I am unequivocally the first one to cross the finish line, signaled by the flutter of the chequered flag. I slow, preparing to take a moment to wave to the crowd before taking a winner's lap. I must have been bearing down harder than I realized; it takes a moment before my fists relax enough on the rubber handle grips that I can remove my glove and raise my arm.

I pull back into the Paddock, victorious, and note with satisfaction that Andrei, Sookie, and Sofia are all three running towards me. Grinning as I remove my helmet, I know that I will get to kiss, well, if not all, at least one of them. The choice of which one of them to be the first is easy. I want to taste more of the lips I fantasized about worshiping my hard-on in the shower this morning.

I see that Sookie aims for my cheek so I turn my head a bit to the left, and she lands one right on my lips. It isn't the French, sensual kiss I wanted, more of a 'crushing lips' type. Still, it feels so fucking hot, and I want nothing more than to deepen the kiss, forgetting everything else_. **I fucking deserve it - I won!**_

But she stirs in my arms and, even if I am reluctant to let her go so soon, I do.

Andre jumps into my arms next, kissing me thoroughly, wet lips on wet lips, of course. I don't take the kiss further though. Unlike most times, today I do give a shit who is watching. For some reason, even if I am not at all ashamed of wide-ranging preferences, I don't want Sookie to see me kissing another. Thankfully Sofia is content with only a kiss on both cheeks.

We leave the Paddock, as the next event is scheduled to occur before the prizes are awarded. Prior to my race, I had run across the folks from Lemon Bikes, the premiere Romanian motorbike stunt crew. I am a high school friend of their leader, Marian, which makes me some sort of friend of the pack. Before he founded Lemon Bikes, Marian and I exercised stunts together in dark car parking at nights, and occasionally performed at few tuning exhibitions, when we were in our first year of university. Back then I was even more of a daredevil than I am at present.

My group chats amiably as we watch the stunt riders prepare for a demonstration. I conceal it from the others, but I'm impatient for the demonstration to be over; I want my prize for my win today. _And, perhaps, some 'Sookie prize' later._

The stunt team assembles their bikes in formation on the track. I can see the number of trick riders has grown to ten, two of them women. One slim rider is his beautiful sister, who is no stranger to me; the other one is a pretty, curvy brunette I haven't met yet. And they have better equipment, and perform far bigger and more spectacular stunts than last year, the previous time I saw them. No longer restricted to only Circle Wheelies and Stoppies, they do now real acrobatics, aptly named the Hyperspin and Switchback.

I watch, amused as the awe of the crowd washes over the riders. I too used to love to show off like this as a teenager, but I grew tired of it shortly. The most visually shocking acrobatics are mainly a matter of skill and technical knowledge. The main risk is always to the motorbike; riders are rarely in any true danger.

But their performance is no less spectacular for it. Curiously, I feel a small twinge of jealousy as I see Sookie watching their show, clearly fascinated with the riders, especially with the male ones.

After the twenty minute exhibition ends with massive burning rubber smoke clouds amid the sounds of squealing tires from the last Merry-Go-Round Burnout, she noticeably relaxes and turns her attention back to me. Over her shoulder, I see Marian dismount from his bike and approach our group.

Andrei is ecstatic, of course, like any other young boy would be. He rushes forward to his new hero, using this opportunity to shower Marian with admiration and intelligent inquiries. I smile indulgently above his head at Marian, who winks in acknowledgment. But Marian seems far more interested in Sookie. He isn't bad looking for a biker, far from it, in fact. With thickly curled, short brown hair and beautiful green eyes, a muscular build and a witty personality, he was almost as successful with the ladies as I was at the time. Unfortunately, for me, he was as straight as an arrow but over the years we did share some girls in various cheap hotel rooms. Our history together ended abruptly with Pam's death, my decision to leave University, and my escape to France to enroll in the Legion Etrangere. As often happens, our paths parted ways permanently; he could never understand why I'd made the decisions I had. Is not like I could ever confide in him.

Marian now owns this club and a wildly successful mechanical shop while I am a partner at the biggest security company in the country. And soon to be Superbike national champion. We don't have as much in common anymore as one might think. Some days I still miss his easy friendship.

Still, I'm speechless at his audacity when I overhear Marian inviting Sookie to see and test his latest lime green Kawasaki bike. Allegedly it prior belonged to the famous Hungarian stunt rider Feri Potzner, who was killed in a car accident.

Instinctively, I assume a bit of a protective, possessive stance behind her. I feel a strong wave of emotion, recognizing it as the need to wrap her in my arms, to kiss her in front of everybody, and to claim her as MINE, for all to know. But she isn't, and the way this is going down is beginning to piss me off.

She turns to me, silently questioning my connection to Marian, and I am slightly mollified that she appears to be seeking my approval. I shrug nonchalantly, and give her a lopsided smile, even if my insides are screaming. I am almost never possessive, and can't fathom the surge of it right now. Not even with Godric did the green-eyed monster raise a hackle! Of course, back then I was more _his_ that he was _mine. _

Placing his hand on the small of Sookie's back, the slick bastard turns his face to me and has the nerve to wink at me again. Does the fucker have a cinder in his eye? Grinding my teeth, I remind myself Marian was always the consummate ladies man. If my Sookie was some regular motor bunny, like the ones that are just now flashing their boobs at the Junior race winners that climb the podium, such behavior would seem normal. Only this time it is different, Sookie is different, and to see him handling her in this manner is filling me with a bloody rage. I swear that if he tries something inappropriate with her I'll be on him like white on rice.

Attempting to rein-in my unexpected reaction, I beg off from the group's antics and head to the Official booth. The scores are being announced, and I wish to distract myself by checking the detailed results.

After surveying my competitors' scores, and deciding that I am pleased with my results: 50 points from this race, which makes 147 so far this year. I turn back to seek Sookie, determined to ask for a _winner's kiss_ from her. I'll let her know I expect a real kiss this time.

I eventually spot her standing alone again nearby. Seeing me approach, she smiles brightly, and begins to walk to meet me midway.

Suddenly I hear a loud screech of wheels, a bang, and several screams. In my peripheral vision, I'm simultaneously aware of a commotion and burst of flames to our left, jumping the barriers erected around the race track.

Sookie is only a few steps in front of me, still smiling, but her body is frozen, looking to the source of the noise. Spinning to my left, I'm horrified to see an out-of-control red car, the race's pace vehicle, aimed directly at her as she stands stunned in the middle of its path.

My nerves screaming, my body responds instinctively to the danger; I leap forward and somehow push Sookie out of the path of the approaching car, before stumbling and falling forward.

I hear her scream, and then all the world goes black.

* * *

**_A/N _**

_The final scene is inspired by a sad incident that occurred at the real similar Championship, on Caransebeş airport, in August. An out-of-control drunk driver piloted his car through the persons on the track and the spectators, unaware of the havoc and injury he was causing the spectators. There were four severe injured that day, including one of the race's Junior Champions._

_As always, there are links in my profile for this chapter. I've also added some new videos - an example of an airport race recorded from the perspective of a rider, a stunt demonstration, and news reports from the original incident that inspired the ending of this Chapter in my story. _

_I hope you had or have the time to read my one shots for **I Write The Songs contest** that you can find listed on my profile page._

**_Love The Way You Lie_**_, an intense dark fantasy, a Sookie/Bill nightmare. I promise the Viking will make her feel better._

_**I Love You... Me Neither** a romantic, fluffy French style lemonade. Related to it there is a pool in my profile. I had Eric's **Gracious Plenty **model for the **"tiny red thing"** to wear. And I really couldn't make up my mind which one I like it most. So I decided to make a pool, where you can vote your favorite **red male scrap of fabric, 5 of them**_

_**Thank you all for reviewing and reading. **_

_**Please review **this chapter to let me know **your impressions, **and **your thoughts **about it. I'mabout to hit the 100 reviews mark, all thanks to you._


	8. Out of the Comfort Zone

_Thank you all for continuing to be along Eric in this wild ride. Also for your reviews, that fuel my writing motor._

_Humble thanks to **Scattered21, ****YoungBoho, Smittenskitten** and all my dear friends who helped. Thank you all for reading and reviewing._

_Disclaimer: Southern Vampire Mysteries are the property of Charlaine Harris and so not mine. I don't own ____n_o biker either, damns!

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**Out of the Comfort Zone**

**_Sunday morning_**

Sunlight streaming through the windows, my eyes flutter open as an involuntary stretch travels down the length of my body, curling my toes as I sigh at the pleasurable sensation. I have seemingly awakened to what feels like a new life: everything seems more intense than I remember, crisper colors, softer sheets, insistently cheerful birdsong. Delighted with this unexpected change, I find myself wishing Eric were here, now, in bed with me. Wicked thoughts, indeed!

Clutching the pillow in my arms, my eyes snap shut in protest when I realize a simple truth: I don't want to get up yet. In the bright light of the new day, what if it all proves to have been just a dream. _Then again, what a dream!_

My thoughts flit back to the sensation of having his arms around me, his lips on my mouth. The strength he sent me made me able to face up to the challenge of bungee jumping. I still cannot believe I have actually done it. In addition, the easy flowing conversation between us was akin to the reunion of two longtime friends.

Then he left last night without even a kiss on my check when I was all ready this time to jump him. If only he would ask me again...

I know I'd fall hard for him.

Thinking about yesterday and Eric starts a soft strumming need in me, building as my nipples harden and my mound begins throbbing. I am slick and needy: barely grazing my clit with the tip of a finger has me jumping and thinking longingly of him. _If only it were **his** long, thick fingers sliding between my thighs this morning…_Soft whimpers escape my lips, echoing in the quiet of my room. I pick up the tempo, flicking my wrist as I imagine Eric's rather larger, more substantial flesh probing, demanding access, and it feels so good...

An unexpected and certainly unwelcome knock at the door makes me choke back a moan, turning it into a cough.

"Yes? Who is it?" I manage to call out, straining with the effort to sound normal. My voice is still raw after yelling during my plunge from the Bungee Jump basket yesterday, not to mention the frustration of being interrupted before finding relief.

"Just wanted to check on you. Are you all right? How was it?" It's Miron, his voice muffled by the heavy door, come to check on me. He is a bit late to be checking on me; it is not as if he cared when left with the others yesterday before I made my jump. Oh well, I wasn't desperate for his company, either. Adjusting my pajamas, I open the door a crack and peer out. Standing in the hallway, Miron looks worn out, eyes tired and bloodshot. . _Probably has a hangover, too. _Still, I cannot deny he is nice enough to check on me. However, I do not wish to demean the experience by casually chatting about it through a hotel door. I am not yet ready to share it. So I just shrug, saying, "It was great. You look like you need more sleep. Why are you up so early this morning?"

"You do look great." He smiles weakly. "We'll talk later, right?"

"I think I will be leaving soon. I have some things to take care today. Will you please let the others know?"

He agrees and reluctantly leaves.

Reining in my irritation, I quickly shower, leaving my hair to dry naturally. Taking a little more time with my appearance, I chose a more daring skirt and form fitting top I usually only wear beneath a jacket. I even apply a bit of mascara and some lip-gloss. My reflection in the mirror smiles back at me. Today, for a change, I am content with how I look. On my way to the kitchen, I overhear two people speaking in hushed tones down a hallway to my left. I do not mean to pry, but can't help overhearing Stela mention me by name.

"I saw Suzana's car back here," she offers.

"Wonder who drove it here for her? I bet she had to be taken home in an ambulance after her yesterday stunt. That is, assuming she actually went through with it. Which I very much doubt. We should have stayed and watched her embarrass herself. " I feel sick to my stomach when I recognize Ada's voice.

"It would serve her right. Wandering away from us and acting as if she was going to Bungee Jump. She's a show-off. Still, if we'd stayed to watch her back, we might have been late getting to the Club."

The two women titter mercilessly at the foreign notion. "After she inherited all that property, she became a worse stuck-up bitch than ever. Always walks around with her nose in the air, thinking she is superior to us," Ada finishes with a mean laugh.

There is nothing surprising in hearing Stela being nasty; she is blatantly jealous Bill's unwelcome interest in me. As a legal counselor of sorts, she believes herself to above all the 'lower-class' women in support positions. In reality, her sense of superiority has turned her into a pompous frigid bitch. I avoid her, and she grants me the same consideration.

_But Ada?_ I still cannot believe she would think something like that about me! She knew so many members of my family, and the truth about my brilliant inheritance: it came with overwhelming strings attached. Grandfather died in Communist prison just for being a merchant and owning these properties. As my former best friend from forever, Ada knows the truth; it hurts she is contributing to the lies circulating around me. The sound of their voices fades as they retreat down the hall, further away from where I cower, trying my best to keep the tears at bay. Pulling myself together, I am finally able to straighten up, and pausing by a handy bowl, grab a couple of apples on my way out of the Hotel. Any sort of breakfast is unthinkable after this latest betrayal by someone once one of my closest friends.

Packed and checked-out, I sigh in relief as I climb into my car. Gratefully starting the modest engine, I manage to get the hell out of there without any further encounters. Good mood restored slightly, I point my car towards the racetrack and Eric, taking the back route to Brasov to give myself time to enjoy the beautiful mountain scenery.

~o~

_I am going to see Eric at the race today!_ The handsome biker I met by chance, not once, but three times during the last two days. Now I am going to find him. **Me, Suzana Stackhaus, I am pursuing this man.** This time, our meeting will not be the result of chance, fate, or coincidence, but by my choice. _Deliberate._ Does this means I will take this encounter further, that I want to initiate something else with him? A fling, perhaps, or a relationship? Do I really want such a thing? Does he? Is it actually possible that this gorgeous man, who looks rather like a movie star, is genuinely interested in me? Or will I just be making a fool of myself?

All is well for the first few minutes of my journey until a rising wave of panic constricts my chest and turns my limbs into ice floes. Pulling off the side of the road, I am fighting the panic attack as I bolt from the car and stumble down to the river that runs along the road.

The limestone boulders are rounded and inviting. I take a seat on a slab emerging from the water that is already warmed by the sun. The clear sounds of the water flowing over the rocks are soothing. I breathe deep, sucking the strong, fresh mountain air into my lungs. Taking off the sandals, I let the soft moss green carpet caress my bare feet, and it work. Slowly, I begin to relax

The only sounds here are the burble of the stream over the rocks, the buzz of a lone bumblebee courting the small white carpet of flowers, and the trill of birds hidden in the dark foliage. The wind whistles through the trees as I dip my hands in the crystal clear water, dampening my forehead and soothing the jangle of my nerves. I look in vain for some trout in the shallow pools at my feet. Maybe it is too late in the morning for them to be surfacing.

I feel safe and serene, basking in the clearing made by sturdy trees, their straight, true forms guarding this small corner of paradise like columns of energy, anchoring the magnificence of the setting to the earth.

It feels like the calm before the storm. However, it is a storm of human making I am headed into, and of my own volition, with roaring metal beasts, race-day crowds, and shouting vendors.

Whatever happens today between Eric and me, it cannot be any worse than my plunging from that impossible height yesterday.

Eventually, with renewed energy, I square my shoulders, buckle on my sandals, and embark again in my car for the race.

~o~

It took few missed turns and doubling back, but in the end, I found myself at the entrance of the airport. Relieved, I park in the general lot for patrons and get in line for a ticket.

Even from afar, I can hear the deafening noise of the bands of motorcycles, even smelling the drifting acrid-smoke from hot engine oil. It is a bit disconcerting after my recent panic attack, but I am not giving up yet.

Once inside the racetrack, there is a myriad of bright colors, powerful engines, drivers wearing leather suits, and a variety of people, mostly men. There are also some girls; most of them dressed as if they came out for a day at the beach, with shirts and shorts that could easily qualify as bra and panties. At least my outfit, quite daring for me, by comparison makes me look like a prude.

I feel alien in the dazzling scene, and I start to question, again, my decision to come here to meet Eric. Feeling increasingly nervous as the chaotic scene continues, I anxiously look around for Eric, still nowhere to be seen.

Following a long ingrained habit, I search for a quiet corner to hide until I spot Eric. However, this is proving to be an impossible task since there is no cover anywhere for the public. I try dialing Eric's number, but he is not answering. I guess that with all this noise it would be impossible to hear a ringtone. Nevertheless, is none-the-less very frustrating, especially as I do not even remember exactly what Eric is riding leathers or motorcycle looks like. Moreover, there are plenty of blue machines at this event, no luck trying to pair him up with his bike.

There are some races going on, with motorcycles running at a dazzling speed on the track, making deafening noises. However, other than paying attention while I scan the competitors for Eric's distinct figure, they held little interest to me.

While I scan the competitors more closely for a view of Eric's distinct figure, the beauty of the event catches my eye. The motorcycles, most very colorful, are running at dazzling speed on the track, clearly demonstrating why they are called crotch rockets. I am thinking I may never find him when I hear a whistle and a voice: "Hi doll! Are you here all alone?"

Turning on the modest heels, I see a man standing right behind me, too close for comfort. His green eyes are intense and sparkling with mischief from under the shadow of his blue cap. He is handsome, with strong, angular features. A green t-shirt and classic jeans are molded by his well-defined, masculine shape. His massive forearms are tanned and impossible to miss; I can barely tear my eyes away, hardly noticing the black elbow patches he is sporting, signaling he is another racer.

"I... I am looking for someone." I answer, a bit shaken by his blatant ogling.

"Aren't we all?" He winks. Puffing out his chest, he introduces himself as if I should already know him. "I am Lemon."

Certainly, he is anticipating I will succumb to his charms or whatever obscure reputation his name might carry. God! I really do not need to fend off some low-rent Lothario right now. I can feel my temper rising, and I spit at him: "Look buddy, I am here to meet _somebody_, and he's not just _anybody_!"

With a mocking defensive gesture, he backs down, an apologetic smile on his face.

"So sorry miss, I didn't mean any offense. I will go and let you look for your _somebody_. But if you want to see a real biker I am over there, with my crew." And he points to a large, noisy group obviously watching his scuttled pick-up attempt. I watch in amusement as he humbly returns to his crew and they gently rib him about being shut down by a girl.

Despite my annoyance, I feel a rising level of satisfaction for not allowing myself to be intimidated by yet another unknown, although perhaps famous, male.

~o~

Having survived a few more pick-up attempts, I am frustrate by the lack of a certain daredevil and am simply ready to just give up, and get the hell out of here. Just as I am making my way to the exit, forlorn and wishing I would never come, a big motorcycle stops a few feet away from me. The figure riding it looks even more imposing, as he unsaddles from the beautiful beast with the fluid movements of a large panther. My throat constricted, I hold my breath as I watch him advancing towards me with a determination that makes me weak in my knees. My eyes roam over his impossibly tall physique. The white bands streaked into the blue leather as though it was moving past at great speed, making me ache to run my hands over it.

I hope it is Eric in this dangerously compelling navy blue leather suit, or I might be unable to resist the advances of this total stranger. I sigh with relief when the removal of his helmet reveals no other than the big blond hunk I seek.

I greet him modestly, avoiding eye contact with him. I am embarrassed by the effect this man has on me.

It is obvious I am not knowledgeable about this sport, so Eric starts to sprout detailed information about the race and his motorbike. Too bad I cannot follow his explanations; all too soon, my head is spinning with terms like laps, left turns, right turns, valve control, cams, air boxes, front fenders, rear fenders... and a whole lot more.

When I meet Eric's friends, Sofia, Andrei, and then his mechanics, Dan and Marius, I am relieved; they are nice enough to include me in their conversation. Even Sofia, who I found a bit cold towards me yesterday, is really very pleasant and welcoming. This is a nice change from the way my work colleagues usually treat me, like the pack's Omega. I have had it with dealing with ill temper of others. Sofia is apparently a sponsor for Eric in this leg of the race. She has a graceful and powerful attitude that demands respect. Such a lady and yet she sits atop her motorcycle with aplomb. An amazing Harley, no less! She even helped me get up on the seat, a difficult task as I am wearing a tight skirt. I blush feeling Eric's eyes roaming over my exposed legs. Anyway, the sensation of grabbing the hard handlebars of that silver machine, literally holding in my hands the helm of such power is amazing.

Andrei is friendly and full of life, bouncing all around like a kid, excited by everything he sees and hears. I suppose he is a kid, after all, even younger than I am, in a place full of toys. He and Sofia seem to be an item, despite their obvious age difference, with her acting a bit possessive about him. Moreover, Andrei seems to worship the ground she walks on.

It is clear she also inspires a great deal of respect from the tech guys, passably informed and competent, if I am any judge. They love to brag about their families, and show us lots of picture of their children. Dan has a girl, a real young lady with the biggest black eyes I have ever seen, while Marius is the proud father of two toddler twin boys, an adorable pair of cherubs. Eric just rolls his eyes at my gushing over all this and nudges them to get back to work making the final adjustments to his motorbike.

Eric himself interests me the most, always moving restlessly, making adjustments, checking in verbally with his team. He is generous with his time, too, introducing me to the well-wishers who make their way to him. They all look up to him. He is their golden boy. My heart flutters in my chest, as I take in his sparkling presence, so warm and full of life. I heartily wish that he is victorious in the competition.

All the races have been exciting but nothing prepares me for seeing Eric compete. He is so focused, so intense in the competition; merging with his motorbike to emerge as a single untamed beast, the lion king among an ominous horde of lesser contenders. My pulse seems to beat at the same insane speed as the one propelling him around the track.

His first race proves easy, but the second one requires serious effort. He is a champion competitor, much as I imagine a knight in a tournament might have been, although Eric is riding a metal horse in this event. There is no denying that there is danger at every turn, as they lean towards the ground to balance the centrifugal pull, each time nearly touching each other in attempts to pass. In a flash, I remember the popular nickname for motorbikes: 'organ donors'. My heart leaps in my throat as I see Eric close to lying flat on the ground on a left turns he passes his opponent and seizes the leadership. Simultaneously thrilling and terrifying—that is how I would characterize this sport.

When the final race is declared, all I can think about is throwing myself into his strong arms, overwhelmed with joy to have him back unharmed.

Still, I am not brave enough to give him a kiss, as I would like to do. Somehow, it happens anyway, his mouth settling over mine. Firm and demanding, his lips spark passion, like living fire, through my parted lips, filling me with the same wildness that fueled his race and brought him victory. Once again, he is the winner, only this time I am his willing prize. Our kiss ends before I fully comprehend what has happened, leaving me in a daze.

With blurry, star-dazzled vision, I see Andrei jumping into Eric's, kissing him with an equal fervor.

Wait! **_Kissing Eric on the mouth_**.

I must not be seeing straight. Or maybe Eric turned his head, just as with me, and their lips met, as with me. Was not much of a kiss, just lips pressed against lips, lasting only a brief second... or two? Anyway, it is odd, and hot, and... So not going into that. It may be a can of worms if I break out an opener. No point in over-thinking this anyway. Likely to have been just an accident. Andrei is clearly with Sofia here, who by the way just kissed Eric loudly on his both cheeks. And Eric invited me, _a woman_ here. Right?

At least I hope he likes me in that way. _Urgh... This is frustrating. How I wish I could be a mind reader!_

The next event is called. Apparently, it is a stunt show performed on motorcycles, something I have never heard of before today, sort of a motorcycle acrobatic troupe.

Watching the trick rider teams assemble for their performance, I recognize the guy who hit on me earlier, riding a neon green motorbike. I guess he has a reason to consider himself famous, after all. He was probably expecting all the girls here to be groupies.

The tricks he and his crew perform are indeed exciting. The kind of excitement you feel watching a circus trapeze show, while the racing is like seeing a bull fight.

About a dozen motorcycles do some incredible stunts, ranging from the sublime to the reckless. From riding on a single wheel, first the back, and then the front one, which I learned is called a wheelie to others with the rider standing, or facing the rear of the running bike, to countless others that seem like thinly disguised death wishes, it is an impressive performance.

The most fascinating thing for me is the two girls on the team joining the men in their stunts. They are just as good as the guys, and my eyes are glued to those two. They must be about the same age as me, probably better looking though, I think. To see them so empowered, so confident stirs something deep inside me, that same spark that led me to the Bungee Jump.

Too soon, the show is over, the riders are waving, and the crowd begins to disperse. I am so grateful to Eric for inviting me here, to share this amazing experience with him and his friends.

Sofia excuses herself, leaving with the mechanics to arrange some logistics. Turning, I see the stunt guy, Marian, coming to our group.

"Eric! Congratulations, old man!"

Eric greets him by gripping his hand and pulling him close for an affectionate bear hug. They are obviously friends, and I hope he will not try to embarrass me in front of Eric by mentioning our previous encounter. However, it turns out he is the one embarrassed for being rejected by a girl. I sigh in relief when he acts as if he is just meeting me for the first time.

"Hi, I'm Marian Lemon."

"Suzana" I wave, turning a blind eye to his hand stretched out towards me.

"Man! That was awesome! I'm Andrei." Our enthusiastic kid companion almost jumps into Marian's arms, grabbing and shaking his hand. "I've never seen anything that amazing!"

"Would you like to meet with the crew, and see my new motor? Today is the first time I've performed with it in public. It is a genuine piece of history. I bought it from the late stunt legend Feri Potzner. I might even let you try it." He addresses the last to our group, winking at me.

"Sure! May I ride it a bit, please?" Andrei is almost breathless in his hurry to answer, already turning to go. I cannot stop smiling at his excitement and Marian's deft handling of his new admirer.

"Perhaps..." he grins, amused by Andrei's behavior, too. "Miss Suzana?" Marian directs the question to me, with the raise of an eyebrow. I find his polite words slightly off key, knowing what I do about his earlier attitude towards me when he mistook me for a bike groupie.

I really want to take a closer look at the two women that I saw performing, so I nod and accept his invitation. He is an Eric's friend, after all.

Marian's green motorcycle is nice, but much smaller than Eric's is. I suppress a giggle at the thought that _nice_ probably is not a word he would be glad to hear me say. He begins bragging about the adjustments he's made, and I am once again awash in technical terms like bars, subcages, and others while he makes subtle innuendos about handlebars that fly right over my head. Unlike with Eric, I now have no patience for such a boring discussion, even minus the pointed allusions, so I politely excuse myself and head towards the two female stunt performers. Probably my sudden lack of interest can be explained by the simple fact that he is not Eric. No piercing blue eyes or heart-warming smile. While Eric is the living embodiment of a sex god, this one is obviously just another womanizer. So boring, and oh so predictable.

The two females, welcome us in a friendly manner, especially Andrei whom they wiggle up to, kissing and giggling with him. Cristina is the blonde slender sister of Marian, while Nina looks more like a strong brunette Amazon. I am disappointed that they have little time for my questions, except for some unwelcome eye-rolling and nudging me about Eric. Since I am unwilling to talk about him, I am soon left out of the conversation altogether. Well, except for Marian, who hands me his business card.

"This is our Club. Whenever you want to come for a visit, you are more than welcome. We have monthly monster-sized parties. The next one is in two weeks. But you do not have to wait until then. This is my number. Feel free to call me anytime." This Casanova just won't give up.

"Thank you." I nervously play with the white rectangle of cardboard. Not quite my way to spend my free time, but who knows, maybe now is the time to start changing my habits? I find myself wondering if Eric would invite me to go with him to such a party.

"Actually, we are going to hold a big celebration for the end of this leg of the race tonight. Would you like to join us?"

During our conversation, I notice that Sofia has followed us and "rescued" Andrei from the clutches of the two women bikers. He seems reluctant to let go of them at first. I do not know what she whispers him, but it must have been good, because he soon follows her retreating figure like a lovesick pup.

"I really don't think so." I answer, tearing my eyes away from the two lovebirds. "I have to be at work early in the morning, in Bucharest."

"Okay then, but do call whenever you want to experience a great party. I always live up to my word."

Waving good-bye, I turn back, searching for Eric. When I eventually see him, he smiles to me, probably to match my silly smile, and his beauty again strikes me. I feel like my heart might fly out of my chest whenever I meet up with him by accident. Of their own will, my feet carry me towards him, my eyes locked on his. It is as if he has me hypnotized with those sparkling azure eyes.

However, I am torn from the tractor beam drawing me into his orbit by a load noise to my right.

Like a horror movie played frame-by-frame, in slow motion I turn my head to see a huge red car rushing towards me. My feet refuse to move, feeling as if they have grown roots and are anchored deeply in the ground. I'm frozen in place. There is the sound of a woman shrieking. It is me? My eyes are fastened on Eric, and I can see his lips moving but I can't hear a thing over that damn shrieking. My sight is drawn again to the machine hurtling towards me, and I feel a pounding, then the weight of a heavy load falls on me, trapping me beneath it.

Coming to with a massive headache, I realize Eric's limp body is covering me. I manage to get my right arm free, and push him down a bit, just to be able to breathe. My head seriously hurts. I freeze when I notice he is not moving. Trying not to panic, I stop struggling since I know it might be dangerous to move him if he is injured. He feels too heavy to move by myself. After what feels like an endless amount of time, the rescuers arrive and his body is rolled off me.

I still do not dare open my eyes as I feel gentle fingers probing my body for injures.

"What happened? I am fine... please take care of him." I manage to get out, and start to struggle ineffectually to stand up. I have to see him! I have to see what has happened to Eric!

"Hush, don't move. Everything will be okay. He's going to be fine." I manage to focus my vision, and recognize Sofia, kneeling next to me. Looking around I see groups of people huddled together in clusters, avoiding looking at me. Finally, my eyes land on Eric, as he lies on a stretcher, to my left. His eyes are closed, and he is as pale as a sheet of notebook paper. _He cannot be dead! Can't!_ The hysteria threatens to flares, as reality seems to fade away at the sight of my so vibrant companion now looking defeated and lifeless.

"Don't you dare faint on me!" Sofia's sharp tone snaps me back. Then she leans forward to whisper in my ear, "He needs you. "

I do my best to keep a cool head. When I finally calm down, I turn to my left, my right side still feeling numb. Watching him closely, the weight of the world is lifted from my shoulders when I finally see Eric open his eyes.

"I'm here!" I greet him, observing the confusion on his face at finding me lying beside him.

He tries to answer but the doctor who has noticed his movement and begun testing him diverts his attention. After a decent amount of investigation, they are satisfied he is stable enough to move. It looks like the main problem he has is at one of his leg, perhaps it is broken, so they restrain it with a removable splint. However, since both of us were unconscious for several minutes we must go to the hospital for further testing.

~o~

Thanks to Sofia, who, after I handled my car's key, reassured me that she and Andrei would follow us, I am taken in the same ambulance as Eric. He is slightly bigger than the stretcher, and his hair is failing loose over its edge. I lightly caress his golden tresses, unable to resist to touching him, even if I really do not want to disturb his rest. He seems to be dozing from the painkillers the doctor gave him before they moved him.

Without him, I would be in the ambulance by myself, severely injured or worse. It is possible that he saved my life today. Feelings of regret, relief, and guilt take over, and resting my head on the edge of his stretcher, I watch him for a few moments, my erstwhile savior. Then I lose it, and the floodgates open, the tears streaming down my face as I think how close to death we both came today.

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**_Today is my name day and is good to have this chapter to post now. Please review, it is important to me to know your thoughts about it. _**

_As always, there are **pictures** for this chapter in **my profile**, including of how I see Lemon, the sexy biker hunk._**_  
_**

_In addition, you might like the **"GP's tiny red thing"** pool on my profile, where you can vote for your favorite **red scrap of fabric, or underwear for Eric's GP, from group of five photos.  
**_


	9. Back on Track

_Thank you all for your reviews and favorite tagging that fuel my writing motor._

_Humble thanks to __**Scattered21, YoungBoho, **__and all my dear friends who helped. Thank you all for reading and reviewing._

_Disclaimer__: Southern Vampire Mysteries are the property of Charlaine Harris. Sadly, not mine._

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**9. Back on Track**

_**SPOV**_

The trip to the hospital was short and uneventful. Eric kept his eyes closed for the journey, feigning sleep. Only a careful observer such as myself would catch the occasional grimace of pain he was unable to control. As for myself, my shock-induced numbness slowly began to dissipate. My head did hurt, as did the hip that had buffered our fall, but these were minor compared to what Eric had suffered. Regardless, I would gladly have assumed Eric's pain as well, if only it were possible.

Riding her motorbike, Sofia somehow managed to beat us to the hospital, and was waiting for us in the ER, where she had been chattering to the nurses. After being admitted, the doctor on duty gave me a general check up on-the-spot, while the nurse took Eric in for X-rays and other procedures. Paramedics soon rushed into the hospital with yet another biker, a young man dressed in a red leather suit, likely another victim of the same accident. The poor boy was covered in blood and writhing in pain. He was clearly in considerably more dire shape that either Eric or me., Seeing the extent of his injuries reminded me once again how grateful I was that Eric's injuries were so minor by comparison.  
"Don't worry about the doctors, everything is taken care of. Don't go anywhere. The police should be here any minute anyway." After blurting these instructions, Sofia rushed off to find Eric.  
Much as Sofia expected, the doctor confirmed that, except for some minor contusions, I was okay and free to go. Since I was not a local, he kindly suggested spending the night in the hospital, instead of making the long drive back in the dark. Deciding to wait and learn Eric's diagnosis, I remained in the waiting room alone. I try so hard to wrap my head around what happened today. How could I have gone from the Plain Jane, quiet office clerk, which considered going out for a cake to be a major event, to getting into an accident at a motorcycle race?

After an indefinite amount of time, Sofia returned, startling me out of my musings. I shared my doctor's findings, and she let me know that Eric had some bruises and contusions, but had gotten on relatively easily. It turned out that only the fibula of his left leg was broken, which apparently was not such a bad thing.  
"If you have to break a bone in your body, the fibula should be it," she said, and I just shrugged incredulously. It is not as if anyone would ever want to have a broken bone, but at least I am relieved that Eric's injury falls into the minor category.

"How is he?" Andrei inquires as he enters the room.  
"Eric is fine, but will have to wear a cast for few weeks. They will most certainly discharge him tomorrow before Noon.  
"I found an extended stay room at a nearby hotel. Dan was kind enough to drive your car into town and leave it at the closest parking lot. They also loaded Eric's motorcycle into their van to bring into the garage. They retrieved Eric's bag, and I left it at the hotel for him." Sofia rolls her eyes at his good citizen-style update, but her expression is one of satisfaction.  
"Suzana, you should stay with us tonight. I don't think driving back in the dark would be wise," Sofia offers.  
I see Andrei perking up at hearing this, with a strange glint in his eyes, and Sofia shoots him a pointed look.  
"I am grateful for all your help, Sofia, but I would much rather stay in the hospital. Do you think I could have a room close to Eric's?"  
She seems to consider it for a moment, and then orders me to wait for her, as she vanishes from the waiting area again.  
Andrei chooses her absence to inch closer to me again.  
"You know, Suzana, you are more than welcome to share our room with us." The suggestive tone of his voice gives me chills, and not in a good way. While I previously assumed him to be a sweet, harmless boy, now he beginning to give me the creeps. Is he for real? Eric and I just survived a potentially fatal accident. If I understand him right, the only thing on his mind is. what? Sharing the bed with Sofia and him? _Jerk!_

Luckily, two police officers arrive shortly thereafter, so I don't have to answer Andrei's not so subtle invitation, as he scoots out to allow me to talk with them.

~o~

After relating everything I remembered about the accident, which was very little, and only receiving vague answers to my own inquiries, I sit again alone in the hospital's waiting area, watching the many people that pass through with various emergencies in ER.

Sofia returns fairly soon after the policemen leave. Luckily, she has been able to pull all the right strings. I filled in my admitting form, and am then directed to a suite with six beds where I will have to be in the morning for the final check-up. Instead of staying there, Sofia and a nurse show me to Eric's double room where I would 'unofficially' spend the night. She drops off our bags, which Andre has brought here for us, kisses Eric on the forehead, and then carefully closes the door, leaving for to her hotel.

Like most of this hospital, the room is rudimentary, with older metal beds and fixtures. However, it is clean, and this small two-bedroom even has its own private toilet.  
Not that Eric is going to care very much. He is lying in one of the two beds, dressed in nothing but a dark green t-shirt and covered with a sheet. A white cast covers his left calve and feet, left outside the sheet and elevated on a pillow. He looks like a mighty fallen oak, and my heart breaks a little more, seeing him so helpless. I touch the headboard of his bed, the cold of the metal sending shivers through my body. Sitting on the edge of his bed, I scrutinize his handsome features. At least he is peaceful now, exhibiting no trace of the earlier pain while he is sleeping. Long blond eyelashes flutter over the cerulean eyes that hide beneath them_. So beautiful!_

Fueled by an unexpectedly bold impulse, I place a quick kiss on his chapped lips.

_What a bad idea that was!_ He stirs in his sleep, mumbling something unintelligible, and tries to twist on his side - movement that makes him wince in pain. Hastily I retreat to the other bed, determined not to disturb him anymore.

_I should lie down for a bit_.  
That was my last coherent thought of the day.

~o~

Morning light filters its way through the old windows that face a blank gray wall. My entire body feels sore all over, and I whimper as I futilely try to stretch my stiff limbs.  
"Good morning," Eric murmurs from across the room, and the fog clouding my brain instantly vanishes. "How are you? Can I do something for you? Want some water?" I ask, moving closer to his bed. I know I must be wearing a silly smile, but cannot help the feeling of relief that swept over me when I heard his deep, sexy voice again.

He seems hesitant, not answering right away. "Water would be great, thank you."

Thoughtfully, Sofia left us a couple of small bottles of water, and I grab one for him.  
I help him lift his head, then watch fascinated his Adam's apple moving up and down as he swallows. His fantastic scent envelopes me again, despite the foul hospital odors. Eric's eyes are locked on mine with his intense blue gaze, freezing me in place. The passion in his hooded eyes ignites something deep inside me, a desire that threatens to blaze forth and consume me. Tearing my eyes away, I cannot help but notice an imposing tenting of the worn, but clean cotton sheet that covers his hips.  
_So close!_ I could just stretch my hand and touch him. _There._ Never before have I done this with a man. If I were to give in to urge, would he consider it taking advantage of his immobility, or would he welcome my touch? What would he take me for? Now it is my turn to swallow past the lump in my throat.  
Abruptly saving me from my inability to make up my mind, an elderly nurse opens the door, entering the room.

"Good morning, lovebirds. Dear girl, you should be out of here and run to your suite quickly. The doctors will begin their morning rounds in a few minutes. They can't find you here in room with a male patient. Absolutely taboo! Now, shoo."  
Smiling apologetically at Eric, and glad the nurse or someone else didn't catch us in a compromising position, I grab a change of clothes after rummaging through my bag and I head to the bathroom to take care of my morning business. The girl staring back from the stained old mirror looks so foreign. Flustered, with runny, smeared black mascara, and thoroughly messy hair, I look rather like I've enjoyed a roll in the hay, and not at all, as if I've just avoided death by a few inches.  
After cleaning up and changing into my jeans and a black t-shirt, I get out, making a beeline to the door, avoiding looking towards Eric's bed. The sounds coming from that direction tell me the nurse is most likely taking care of _his_ morning business.

In the crowded suite where I allegedly spent the night, a group of seven doctors and residents arrive just moments after I settle down on one of the empty beds. They barely look at me, discussing my case and others between themselves, glancing more at the charts than at the patients. From the grumbles of the older doctor, as he glances me, looking over his black rimmed glasses at me, I deduce I am free to go, with no further medical attention needed. '_I_ _must have been too healthy for his taste_,' I scoff.

After the doctors leave, a nurse arrives with the breakfast cart: boiled eggs, chunks of bread, and a huge bucket with tea. I opt for just some tea; however, I have no cup. Thankfully, a woman takes pity on me and locates a plastic disposable cup. I wince at the first sip of the impossibly sweet tea but my thirst wins out. I drink it all, remembering once again Eric's earlier expression as he had his water.  
I hope the doctors will release him today too. How will he get home? Does he have a ride? Is there someone waiting for him back home? Family, friends, or maybe a girlfriend?... Anyway, it is useless to muse about this sitting in the hospital bed. _I need to get out of here, now._

Gathering up my stuff yet again, I make my way back to Eric's wing of the hospital.

"Alcide can't come sooner than tomorrow. He is all the way in the North visiting with a new client. I fucking hate staying here until then." Eric is saying to Sofia as I enter his room.  
Who might this Alcide be? Brother, friend, lover...? _No! So not going there again._

"Sorry I couldn't help you with that." Sofia's voice all that is solicitous and caring "Company's cars are already committed elsewhere. However, with the right amount of cajoling, I bet I can find an ambulance team who will take you home today." Sofia seems perfectly capable to bring the proverbial mountain to Mohammed if she puts her mind to it.

"I could take you in my car," I blurt. "I am driving there anyway. Might not be entirely comfortable, since it is a small car, but perhaps we can adjust the seats to create more space._" Just shut up already! No point in embarrassing yourself by letting it be known how much thought you had already put into this offer._

I am floored when Eric agrees to return to the City with me. I will have HIM in the cramped space of my car with me! All to myself with no one to interrupt us.

_Starstruck much?_ I quickly chastise myself, forcing my eyes to quit drinking him in, dressed as he is in a light turquoise shirt and brown shorts. I wonder if the elderly nurse dressed returned to dress him, or if Sofia and Andrei had a hand in it, but swallow back the question.

To divert attention from my already burning cheeks, I inquire of Sofia if she knows any more about the accident. She nods, and tells us the driver who caused it all was a former racer. He was the same one the officials had banned from the Supermoto competition. He was intoxicated, and after being kicked out, he continued to pour alcohol down his throat, and then determined he wanted payback. At this point, no one knows for sure if his actions were directed at the referees or the racers who had won yesterday's leg of the race. On the track, he injured four other people beside us, including a Junior Champion, and wrecked several motorbikes for good measure. After the carnage, he drove off, with several bikers trailing him. He eventually sought refuge inside a local, police station, no doubt to escape the wrath of the bikers.

~o~

With Sofia and Andrei's help, we are now good to go: luggage placed in the trunk and Eric settled comfortably in my car. He looks strangely outsized positioned as he is on the back seat. We had to fold down the front passenger backrest so he could stretch out his legs in front of him. I really can't tell by his expression if he's in pain or not, and I don't feel confident enough around him to ask the question. Maybe I will later, though.

Turning the key, I attempt to start the engine. It cranks, and then stalls out. _Shit!_ I have in my car a real motorcycle racer, and I cannot even start this matchbox of a car to turn over for me. I fumble a bit with the clutch and acceleration pedals and sigh in relief when the motor roars to life. I drive off, waving carefully at Sofia and Andre and feeling much too self-conscious. I hope they will not laugh at me too much when I am out of sight. .  
Damn, I should relax. When I am tense, I drive so badly.

Startling me, Eric places his large hand on my shoulder, completely covering it, his long fingers brushing the top of my chest.

"Thank you, Sookie. This is really very kind of you."

"It is only fair that I would offer my assistance since you acquired your injury saving me." I try for a lighthearted tone, when I feel anything but that. His hand radiates a scorching heat that travels straight to my center, simultaneously dousing and inflaming my desires for him, so powerful is the spell he has cast over me.

Glancing in the mirror, I am transfixed at the sight of his blue eyes, fixed on me. He removes his hand, but its warmth lingers still on my body.

_Music should help defuse my reactions to me, I hope. _  
"What kind of music would you like? I have some Chillout, Ambient, Lady Gaga..."  
"Whatever you want is fine with me." His voice sounds weary.  
I pop the Café del Mar CD in the slot, then attempt to focus on the rhythm of the music, and _not _keep glancing in the rearview mirror.  
After a short while, soft snores let me know that Eric has fallen asleep. Finally, I am able to relax behind the wheel and concentrate on my driving.

~o~

The road back to the City is not too crowded, especially since the weekend rush ended yesterday. I manage to drive back to Bucharest without major traffic jams and don't see a single accident. . Eric is out for most of the three hours it takes to make the trip, leaving me to my thoughts.  
The town's welcome sign signals the end of the solitude we'd enjoyed on the major highway, and we reenter the urban havoc. Unavoidably, the shrill horns of impatient drivers soon awaken my sleeping Eric. He gives me directions and we soon end up on a quiet, charming street in the most exclusive neighborhood of the city, in front of an imposing villa.  
Shinning white walls, decorated with blue glazed faience in fascination patterns, an arcaded entrance portico, colonnaded verandahs and balconies are readily visible from the street. A lofty central dome harboring dark window frames nested under pointy arches makes it looks just like a palace from the Tales of 1,001 Nights.

Add a guard kiosk in front of this seemingly small palace, and it would look just like an embassy or other diplomatic residence.

Might Eric really live here, alone? I would have taken him for more of a penthouse kind of guy. As in an apartment rather than a domesticated dwelling such as this one. _Would Scheherazade run out of the door, greeting him? Or perhaps an entire Harem of Eric-enamored women? _I felt my throat turn dry. I'd only had a cup of sweet tea all day and I suddenly felt lightheaded at the thought of Eric keeping a Harem in the middle of Bucharest

But it appears a different fate awaits my Superstar. A dark haired man with a deep tan is seated on the front steps. Observing me steering my little car in front of Eric's imposing house, he stands in greeting, a genuine smile lighting up his strong features.

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_**A/N  
**__Those of you who have read the slashy outtake of this story, __**Blushing Cherry, will**__ know how likely or unlikely is that this man is a certain lover of Eric's. _*wink*

_In addition, you might like the **"GP's tiny red thing"** pool on my profile, where you can vote for your favorite **red scrap of fabric, or underwear for Eric's GP, from group of five photos.**_

_**Please review, it is important to me to know your thoughts about it.**_


	10. Inside His Fortress

_**A/N**_

_My thanks to __**Scattered21, YoungBoho, **__and all my dear friends who helped. Also thank you all for reading and reviewing.__ This is a short chapter; Sookie insisted on talking some more. Nevertheless, the next one will be solely Eric._

_My inspiration for Eric's house is the Çinili Kiosk, or Tiled Pavilion, in the Topkapi Palace of Istanbul, Turkey. Link of its picture you can find in my profile.

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From the previous chapter:

_A dark haired man with a deep tan is seated on the front steps. Observing me steering my little car in front of Eric's imposing house, he stands in greeting, a genuine smile lighting up his strong features.

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**10. Inside His Fortress**

_**SPOV**_

"Tray!" Eric's howl/shout to the man through the half-open car window startles me.

"Eric, you look like an oversized sardine stuck in a yellow submarine," the sturdy man shouts back as he nears the car.

"A sardine sporting a broken leg. Suzana, this is Tray Dawson, my colleague. Tray, Suzana Stackhaus, my gracious savior from a ride home in an ambulance."

Tray doesn't say much, just nodding in acknowledgment. He's a supersized man: I bet you could crack pecans on his biceps. He has dark brown hair beginning to show just a little gray at the temples and a neatly trimmed mustache.

With Tray's silent help, we manage to climb the few front stairs and enter Eric's house through the imposing carved wooden door, Tray carrying Eric almost bridal style. While they look really funny like that, the image is somehow disturbing.

Shyly, I follow them inside. The entry hall is utterly empty, with just a bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Only a couple of pairs of shoes are neatly aligned near the white entrance wall.

"Where to, man?" Tray asks, finally speaking in my presence.

"The couch will do for now," Eric offers, a note of weariness evident in my Superstar's reply.

"I also brought you a pair of crutches and a bag of groceries."

"Thank you."

"Thank Amelia," Tray shrugs.

"I would if she had brought them to me in person." I have a feeling there is some unpleasant history behind this.

"I'll be right back," Tray offers apologetically and makes his escape to retrieve the crutches and food supplies.

I remained standing at the entry to the adjacent room. Calling this room a living room is grossly inadequate. It is a huge empty space, with a dome-shaped ceiling, lit by a huge suspended Moroccan light fixture. The only objects in the cavernous space are a big brown L-shaped leather couch, where Tray has carefully arranged Eric, a red Persian carpet in front of it, a big flat-screen TV, a small Turkish coffee table, and some brown cardboard boxes piled in the back of the room. It looks like a dream palace with a story just beginning to unfold. I really hope it will become my dream, an Eric/Sookie fairytale.

"Come in Sookie, take a seat." Embarrassed now, I sink down into the couch cushions, careful to keep a circumspect distance between us.

"I'm sorry I can't be a better host. The kitchen and the fridge are over there." Eric points to a door on the left. "But I am afraid there isn't much in it, except some bottled water and beer."

"Here it is." Tray returns, smiling as he enters the room with a large brown bag and aluminum crutches. He places those near the coach then just stands there for few moments, observing us. Modulating his voice, he gently inquires, "How long will you be stuck in this?" gesturing at the white gypsum that encases Eric's leg.

"About two weeks, then I'll probably get to wear a Velcro fastening split. Do you want to sign my cast? Maybe make me a _get well_ drawing?" Eric smirks, and Tray scowls.

"Don't think so dude, but perhaps the next time, when you break your neck."

"Need anything else before I leave, Eric? I have to get back; there is a system meltdown at one of the sites. Think I told you about it."

"A sponge bath, perhaps. Do you think Amelia would do that for me too?" My gulp is clearly audible at the image that pops into my head. _Those lean yet strong muscles under my soapy hands… err, sponge... _I would volunteer to help him with that any time. _If only he would ask._

"Ha! Funny, Eric. Call if you need something. Bye." And without further ado, he is out of the door. I don't know if Tray spoke five words to me, and I still know nothing much about him.

"Are you hungry?" Eric turns towards me, the tip of his long fingers lightly touching my thigh. The casual intimacy of the gesture makes me realize we are alone, sitting on the same cozy piece of furniture, the heat of his fingers searing the denim fabric of my pants. The sight of his long fingers, shaped like those of a classical pianist, transfixes me. I'm mesmerized by his hand until the movement of his cast, as he adjusts it, snaps me out of my daydreaming.

_Oh God, this man is injured__, and I am lolling in my inappropriate thoughts about him_! I feel like slapping myself.

"Sure, I will check the supplies from Tray. Maybe there's something I can prepare for you." I bolt off the couch, grab the bag, and begin to rummage in it. It is filled with packages full of finger foods and fresh appetizers. "Do you have some serving dishes?"

"Probably so. Feel free to explore the cabinets in the kitchen; I don't spend much time in there myself."

The kitchen was as impressive as the rest of the house, with massive dark wooden cabinets and solid ruby-red Corian countertops with integrated sink, made from the same material. Above the ceramic cook top, there was a striking blue tree-of life-panel, made of hand painted tiles. Most of the appliances discreetly concealed behind furniture wood panels, except the classical looking black oven. A combination of classic and modern, with ethnical accents. Quite nice for one who is a stranger in his own kitchen.

I contrast this chef's delight again my kitchen, with its moth-eaten chairs and table, and battered cabinets. The sink is chipped and stained, and my appliances might have come from the Soviet era. I scowl at the comparison, wondering what I am doing here: Eric is so obviously out of my league.

Eventually, in one of the cabinets filled with never-used chef-quality cookware and Rosenthal china, I locate some platters. After arranging the food on the delicate white and gold dishes, I take a water bottle from the fridge concealed within one of the cabinet door, snare a couple of glasses, and bring it all back into the living room.

"Do you need to take any medicine before eating?"

"No, I won't take pills."

We eat in a silence broken only by my appreciative sounds about the food.

"Delicious, try this, I think it is Sturgeon," I say, passing him some fish in a meunière sauce.

He takes the choice morsel from the pro-offered fork, and a bit of sauce lingers on his lips. Noticing, he casually licks it up with the tip of his pink tongue_. I_ _could have done that for him._

"It's good, but just fish. I only hope I don't choke on some bone. For me, food is nothing more than sustenance."

"Sturgeon or not, this is a really good feast. I've never eaten anything this good from a catering company. If only they'd assembled these shrimps on real shells, caviar on white chocolate discs, and a Pinot Gris wine, this would be a heavenly treat. I couldn't imagine a more perfect meal_._"_ Yeah, keep on rambling, _I think as I feel the blush creep up my neck and warm my cheeks.

"Do you have much experience with caterers?" Eric has a strained look. Good for him for not using too many chemicals, but his abstinence must be painful, too. I notice he has hardly had eaten much from the trays of food I've prepared for him.

"In the Pharmaceutical industry, taking excellent care of the customers is essential, and they expect it. There are plenty of company resources devoted to doing just that, so we have cocktail hours at most presentations and seminars. I manage the events and am responsible for arranging for the catering and open bars. In the last two years we've had... let's see, over thirty events that required extensive catering." I explain, licking the remnants of the delicious food from my fingers. I'm not too proud to enjoy a good meal when it comes my way.

Eric eyes me, a speculative look that has me crossing my legs and wondering if he's about to propose something more exciting than another question about caterers. His next words are both surprising and enticing; I was right about the offer, but it isn't quite the one I've been hoping he would make.

"You know, we are looking for an events assistant. My company has begun to develop an events department over the last six months. Would you be interested in applying for the opening?"

_How could I not be interested?_ I nearly scream. Instead, I consider the possibility of having Eric as a boss. Could I keep things on a 'professional' level?

The real question is would I want to keep our relationship strictly business? Most likely, I would not. Just the thought of seeing Eric every day, sitting across from him at meetings, watching him present in front of a crowded room, taking orders from him… Oh, swoon, what a delicious amount of trouble I could get into with such opportunities.

Dropping my eyes demurely, I softly answer him with, "I don't know, perhaps. May I use your bathroom?" I glance upwards at Eric, disappointed to find him with his eyes closed.

"Of course, Sookie, it is near the kitchen," he says wearily, flicking his hand towards a hallway that leads off the main living room.

Stepping into the bathroom, I can't stop gasping. I have never even dreamed of visiting a hotel with such accommodations, much less finding this sybaritic retreat in a single man's house. Strips of golden mosaics adorn the white tiled walls and floor and a complex chandelier-style light is suspended from the ceiling. All the bathroom fixtures have egg-shaped forms, including the soaking tub in which I imagine Eric looking like Castor, or maybe Pollux in one of Leda's swan eggs. I giggle at the image in my head; Eric is closer than anyone I can picture as a Greek demigod. There is even a separate terrazzo steam shower with several benches, larger than my entire bathroom back home, behind a clear glass panel. I've seen photographs of these types of bathrooms in magazines of luxurious homes in foreign countries but this room alone would barely fit into a standard apartment.

I feel too self-conscious at first to use the round toilet, but nature must be satisfied, and I eventually manage to do my thing. The sight of my tired-looking face in the mirror appalls me; no wonder Eric has been falling asleep on me! I wash up with a large bar of jasmine scented soap, pinching my cheeks for some color, all the while marveling again at how un-Eric-like it all seems here.

Back in the main room, Eric seems to have fallen asleep, so I quietly gather the food and reusing the containers, place it on the shelves in the massive, stainless-steel refrigerator. Taking a last careful look around the kitchen, I'm not certain if it is safe to leave Eric alone, so I return to the far end of the couch, close enough to help, but careful not to awaken him.

_I am so tired. These last two days were so off the charts... Riding on a motorcycle, bungee jumping, racetrack accident. These are far too much for a weekend adventure. Maybe I should rest a bit before going home. I snuggle into the buttery-soft leather and pulling my feet up underneath me, I settle my head against the back of the couch. Closing my eyes for just a few minutes, I listen happily to Eric's gentle snoring and begin to imagine this is what my life could be like. If only..._

~o~_  
_

Morning sun awakens me after what seems likes minutes, but has clearly been hours.

_Oh God, it is eight thirty already; I cannot afford to be late for work!_ Yesterday I called in to excuse myself because of the accident and will bring the medical certificate. But with my luck, my colleagues will think I was injured while bungee jumping and probably dock me a day's pay.

Pushing away the beige wool blanket _(where did this come from?)_ I make a quick trip to the bathroom to freshen up for work. Returning to the couch, I find my sandals and refasten them. That's funny, I do not remember taking them off last night. Eric is still asleep so after thinking carefully, I write him a message on the back of one of my business cards and tuck it under a crutch. Gathering my reserve, I swallow my anxiety about the day ahead and storm off to the office.

Only as I park my car in the company lot do I notice that Eric's bag is still in the trunk, next to mine.

* * *

_**A/N**_

_Disclaimer__: Again, none of the above characters is mine; I just weave a new tale with CH's toys._

_In my profile pictures of Eric's Moroccan chandelier, kitchen furniture, a Tree of life tile mural ceramic design, china, and his bath fixtures._

_The next chapter will answer some questions you probably have, especially why Eric is so uncharacteristically quiet and withdrawn. He has conflicted emotions, which might take some time to put on paper. The good news is that the next chapter is partially written already._

_**Thank you for reviewing**__, your comments are a huge help in keeping this story moving, despite the demands of RL._


	11. Memorial

**_A/N_**

_This fiction is mainly a story about self-discovery, of finding out what really matters, for both Sookie and Eric. I thank all of you who have the patience, which I know I was testing, to keep following it. There are many easier stories to read, this won't be one of them. I like the ones that are different, that leave me with something to reflect upon. Therefore, I strive to write one like that._

_

* * *

_

** 11. Memorial**

**_EPOV_**

When I regained consciousness after the accident, I was so relieved to find Sookie was okay, looking at me with a weak smile and worry lines marring her beautiful forehead. Then the leg pain let me know all was not sunshine and roses. Damn that fucker, whoever he was. I went through my entire life without as much as a broken finger despite all the craziness I engaged in and now this... Just because of some psycho who used his car as a battering ram.

I refuse to take painkillers. Hate drugs, in any form or shape. Doctors and hospitals are a close second. The smell of antiseptic in the close confines of the ambulance alone is making me sick. However, having her near me on the way to the hospital is better than any fucking pill.

In the ER, I found out that I had only broken the fibula as a result of the car's impact. Thankfully, I was wearing my motorcycle-riding boots; the break is not near the ankle so it should heal quickly. In contrast, a week before the World Championship, Valentino Rossi broke his right shinbone at the Italian MotoGP. He might miss the rest of the year's races over that injury. I sigh in gratitude, as it might have been much worse for me as well. I got off relatively easy. My mood improves slightly.

Another pleasant surprise was Sookie spending the night here, too. I woke up with the most delicious dream of kissing her, and there she was, in the adjoining bed. That night was longer than typical, given that I slept only fitfully, for some reason. Thankfully, I wasn't stuck with some snoring patient. I am glad Sookie was in here instead, the gentle sounds of her soft breathing almost lulling me back to sleep. Almost, because in fact the sweet sounds only served to excite me more, excitement manifesting in a hard way. In the dim orange light from the outside streetlight, I could see the rhythmic rise and fall of her generous breasts. Minutes crawled by at a maddeningly slow pace. I debated whether or not to relieve the tension by myself but decided against it since I had no Kleenex or towels within arm's reach. And there was no way I could do this without making a mess, so it was out of the question. If she were just another motorcycle groupie, it would have been easier. Most of the women would have happily swallowed the evidence had I asked for some assistance. But Sookie had a certain innocence that made it impossible to think about her in such a way. She was like a precious china doll to me. I wondered if her air of innocence hinted at more than just a sweet nature. Those thoughts did nothing to alleviate the tightness in my hospital pants.

Eventually morning came, light steaming in through the dusty windows awakening her. I was 'up' for so long by that time; it was almost painful. The sensation was so intense; it almost surpassed the true pain pulsing in my injured leg.

Then she was on my bed, alleviating one of my thirsts, while inflaming the other, much stronger one. Her breasts were almost in my face, her smell so warm and sensual. I wanted to fill both of my hands with her hot, ripe tits. Moreover, I fancied I saw equally strong lust in her eyes. Then the reality of the new day in the hospital greeted us in the form of the bent, stern, elderly nurse. I couldn't decide if I was grateful for her warning or angry at her interruption.

The doctors came and released me from this dreadful place. I'm good to go, just stuck here, with no driver to haul my injured carcass back home today. Alcide is in Iaşi, the biggest town in the Northeastern part of the country, at some local event for the head honchos, and he has his fiancée with him. So if he had offered to come for me, I'd have been stuck with Debbie in the same car for hours. I shudder at the thought of that.

Sofia mentioned going home in another ambulance. I could only snort in horror._ A fucking, never-ending nightmare!_

Truthfully, I totally appreciated all that Sofia had done for me. Without her insistent presence and the money she generously passed around, I might have ended up with the wrong leg in a cast. Still, even the thought of another day in the hospital or of long hours in the dreadful ambulance filled with poignant smells of medicine made me shudder. Therefore, when Sookie offered a ride back to the City with her, I was so happy I could have kissed her. Well, I might do that even without the offer of a ride back home.

Home. That is a completely different problem. I'm not sure how I feel about showing the house to Sookie.

For my house is not my house: it is _his_ house. Not that he ever stepped foot in it. Still, it will remain forever his dream house in my thoughts. Any time we would happen to pass through the neighborhood, he could not stop praising it, how it reminded him of the home he grown up in back in Tehran, until his family had been forced to seek refuge in Germany. For him, it was a perfect example of Persian architecture.

Before his death, I went through hell and back for it. All the interior upgrades were planned with him in mind. It was supposed to be my "Forgive Me" present for that fatal Christmas. Now, it serves as a silent portal, my only direct link to him.

Just the thought of having a total stranger stepping inside our walls he did never have time to enjoy is somehow unsettling. This is a place where almost nobody visits, except my cleaning woman and occasionally Alcide and Tray. Rasul doesn't even know about it. I couldn't stand his pity; he would see the truth of my loss right away.

This was to be Godric's sanctuary; now it serves only as his memorial.  
The thought of bringing Sookie to my house, a woman I am interested in no less, leaves me close to a panic attack. I wonder if her being there would break the spell that keeps him among these walls.

Of course, I keep a studio apartment nearby for entertaining the occasional fling and casual meetings. It is located not far from my house. Unfortunately, it is an older four-story building that has no elevator. I certainly never anticipated I would have a broken leg when I signed the lease for it, I growl in frustration. _Fuck!_

Eventually reason prevails, and I think about just dismissing her help at the front door, even offering to pay for the ride. However, I want to be polite. No, wait, I want to be nice, I do want more from her than just a drive. I'll have to let her in. _Fuck!_

If I don't invite her inside now, it might be a month before I am up and fully mobile without the crutches. I DON'T want to wait a month before getting to know her better.

~o~

Later:

The scenery passes by in rush as I concentrate on keeping my leg immobile on the front seat of Sookie's car. Any slight jolt or sudden movement, and I'm in agony. Here in the confined space of her joke of a car, I can almost feel her body heat from the front seat of this tin can. Graciously, I lean towards her, and thank her again. Touching her feels so right, and I want more, I want to lower my hand and cup her full breast, slip my hand beneath her clothes and search for the source of that heat. I want to find her little pink pearl of pleasure and make it throb and pulse from my touch. I envision doing so, and can almost see her squirm in response. Thank God, she cannot hear my thoughts. I continue with the pleasant imagery, ending with her naked and screaming my name in the throes of her orgasm.

I realize I've forgotten about the nasty ache in my leg, and restart my fantasy. I now have her kneeling before me in a submissive pose, head bowed, naked and silent. Embroidering on the imagery, I bend to taste her mouth, but wanting more, decide to go lower to sample how sweet her essence is, too, to lick it off my fingers, or drink it directly from the source... I want to feel her, see hear, hear her, smell her as she comes around me, because of me, breathless and gripping me in the vise of her thighs. Removing my hand from her shoulder had been difficult; freeing my eyes from her is even harder, but I have to, or I will be aching hard all the way. Even I can't rub one out in her backseat without alerting her to my activity. She might not appreciate me soloing while she acts as my erstwhile if silent chauffeur.

I will my erection into submission by thinking about that old nurse that tended me this morning. After a welcome deflation to a semi-hard state, I'm able to relax a bit. Sookie's car smells of cookies and her, a comforting mix that fills me with a warm, fuzzy feeling. I drink it in, breathing deeply, and the relaxation it offers combined with the bland music she is playing on her car radio finally lulls me into the warm embrace of sleep.

After a very good nap, despite the confined space of the back seat, I awaken in time to give her directions to my home. Home: as in the house I'd meant to share with Godric. It's no less than she deserves for the unfailing kindness she has shown me.

~o~

Tray is waiting in the front yard, and I'm pleased to see a familiar face. Even more so, as I appreciate that even if he has my security backup keys, he only opened the front gate, not my private space inside my house. He is a good friend.

Tray stares at me as I welcome Sookie inside, but refrains from commenting on my unexpected decision to welcome a stranger to the house. He is one big quiet teddy bear, and I want to hug him, but I refrain. I know hugging another man is not his thing.

I don't even bother to ask why he didn't come to collect me from the Hospital. One word sums it up: Amelia. I know that bitch of his made him stay with her for the embassy security system situation. Not that I resent his decision too much, I silently grouse. After all, Sookie brought me home, and the embassy fiasco was a true client emergency for us with last's night burglary at the site.

What burns is that Amelia has a personal grudge against me. Even if she has somehow managed to completely bewitch Tray, she still feels threatened by our friendship. Stupid woman! I might be a manwhore, but I'm not after his firm, muscular ass. Tray and I never shared anything beyond a solid camaraderie and a strong friendship. He isn't my type, too bulky for me, and he wasn't interested in exploring new territories. Plus, I always suspected that he would never agree to bottom for me. Unlike Alcide, with whom I share some very pleasant, sensual memories. Yet the Debbie-bitch just keeps on trying to get in my pants. I grin, knowing that Alcide's evidently never told her about our times alone together.

Friend or enemy, I know I don't want Amelia coming here, not in a thousand years, but teasing Tray about her is too good to pass up. I bet the wicked witch knows all about his past with Godric, also about his lost family to be, and exploits these shamelessly.  
One night, after nearly drowning him with one meter of draft beer, he finally spilled his guts. Once upon a time, Tray fell for a girl in Bosnia. It was love at first sight and too soon, she became pregnant and gave birth to his baby boy. They were supposed to marry as soon as he was out of the contract with the Legion. They would return together to the States, and live happily ever after. Only fate intervened; they were killed in a bombing, when Tray was stationed in a nearby village. He didn't even receive permission to attend their funerals as the bombing kept up in the area. Therefore, I partly understand his mushy attitude towards Amelia, even if the only commitment they have to one another is a flea-bitten cat she rescued from the dumpster.  
I snort as I picture Tray with Bob-the-cat purring in his lap.

The food Amelia sent comes from the new caterer we use at the events. It consists of finger food, some sort of sushi, and other delicacies. I would have eaten it right from the bag, but Sookie had other ideas. After rummaging in the kitchen cabinets, she produced some platters I had no idea I even owned, and arranged the food in a most spectacular way. She apparently has some magical talent for presentation; it looked even tastier thanks to her efforts. I dove in, barely able to keep up my end of the conversation.

Having Sookie here, her scent and presence permeating the room, is expectedly pleasant. Her feminine touch as she presents our food, fluffs the pillows on the couch, and her casual attitude reminds me of the happy moments I had with my aunt. Pam had a very artistic personality as well.

As she scoots around seeing to my comfort, the warmth Sookie radiates in this cold setting brings up forgotten memories of my mother and her similar domestic efforts on my behalf. Memories I would rather keep locked down there in my interior dungeon, along with my dark past's toothy dragons. I grimace and keep eating.

Then she starts to make all these wanton noises as she eats, resurrecting my earlier hard state as quickly as you can blurt "zucchini." I try to control myself, but I am forced to make some adjustments. I refuse to suffer in silence when all this is happening in my house, on this couch, when all I'd ever wanted was to share this space with _him_.

Today, all I can ever have of him is my fantasy of the two of us living openly together. There can never be the reality I crave. My lover is gone. Brought up short by the reality of my lonely existence, I pay more attention to Sookie. I have to admit I feel something for her, and it's more than just her body. Her presence triggers something deep inside me, bigger than lust. I decided I have to see her again, talk to her, and get to know her inside and out. I want to understand why I am drawn to her.

Pulled into conversation with her, I discern that Sookie seems to have some knowledge of catering, and I find myself offering her a job at Silvery Events. Am I that desperate to see her again? I try to convince myself that she would be a great addition for our new company, but, to be honest, she could had known squat about event planning, and I would still want her near. She is smart, very attractive, and perfectly able to face new challenges. She doesn't really answer my impromptu proposal, escaping to the bathroom instead to no doubt to mull over the invitation.

I begin daydreaming about seeing her every day. I would eat my lunch with her, to begin our casual affair on a light and friendly note. Later, perhaps dinner out would become commonplace between us. I would drive her home after our evenings together, and plan to spend our nights at her place. Well, that would have to wait until I am out of this damn cast. When I was healed, I would take her on the back of my bike or in the car when it rains. Perhaps we would be enjoying the occasional detour once I earned her trust...

~o~

**_Round breasts, twin beacons guiding me back home.  
So tight! So hot!  
I move inside her velvety channel that grips me like a glove, in search of her inner bliss. Ah, there it is! Right there. Caressing it, worshiping it, I feel her insides lovingly clasping my firm flesh. Her entire being shakes and trembles with tremors in anticipation of the earthquake I silently promise to deliver. _**

**_I groan, aching from the self-restraint I'm showing in the face of such temptation. Sliding in more, as deep as humanly possible, I reach for her heart, matching my thrusts to the frantic rhythm of her pulse. Whimpers turn into moans, then cries that swirl around us, wrapping us in a celestial cocoon.  
I want to stay inside her, always like this, bound together forever. United, I could vow never to be apart from her and never risk being alone again. _**

**_In this precious moment, we are like two halves of a clamshell, tumbling together, riding the waves of life, reveling in each other. I end and begin with her. She is a feverish, mirror image of my ecstasy encased in a beautiful feminine form. My other half, myself. Mine, in every way.  
Exquisite! In the dark ocean depths of her eyes, I see what I seek most: drowning and salvation. Realization throws me over the edge in a blazing spiral of light, drawing me deep inside her soul.  
She is Mine, and now I am Her's._**

~o~

I wake up with strange sense of fulfillment and my hand clasped over my damp pants. _Jesus, I just jizzed in my pants like a teenager. Next thing I will invite her out for a piece of pie and a soda and timidly ask if I can hold her hand while taking a stroll in the park._ I encircle my balls to make sure I still have a pair!

The darkness of the room worries me; does it mean she didn't trust me and left me alone in the house with no goodbye? No, in the dim light I can spot Sookie's form. She fell asleep near me, curled on the soft leather like a child. I'm so glad I didn't wake her up with my nocturnal activities. She looks so fragile. Twisting around, I'm able to remove her sandals, marveling at the delicacy of her feet, and cover her with a light throw from the back of the couch.

Cautiously I rise from the couch and test walking with the crutches, carefully using the cast for balance, as instructed by the doctor. Reaching the bathroom door is not too difficult. Good thing I have few things in my path since the house remains mostly unfurnished. After Godric's death, I saw no point in decorating it further. It's been three years of living in denial, not moving forward. Perhaps it is time for a change.

The light in the bathroom is blinding at first. I take in, again, the pristine bathtub where I dreamed to bath with Godric one day, and I sigh, feeling guilty for my thoughts of another while the sweet woman sleeps unawares in the other room.

I still have to deal with my sticky problem in my pants, but I keep some clean sport clothes in one of the cabinets here. I take a seat on the toilet and after I manage to answer the call of nature, I change my shorts. And I do it without falling and embarrassing myself. But it is exhausting so I keep the slightly soiled shirt. Then I get up and take a good long look in the mirror.  
I look like shit, with a three-day growth of beard and hair like a rat's nest. I should probably do a haircut on myself, something I haven't done since the army. I'm getting too old for the rebellious long hair. I kept the long hair because Godric liked it this way, and it is yet another thing that keeps the memory of him alive. He used to love pulling it as I was worshiping him with my mouth and using it as a rein while riding me. He used to say I was his _ange d'or,_ his golden angel.  
_How I loved it when he called me by his pet name for me! How I loved him! How much I love him still._

Angrily I wipe away a tear that has slipped down my check. No point in crying over his loss; it won't bring him back to me. Not that I haven't tried it before this. I cried tears of blood when I learned the news, all to no avail. Beautiful, powerful, and devoted as I was, even I could not convince Death to return him to me. No doubt, he too had been waiting jealously for Godric's embrace, and now Death would have his chance with him.  
_Enough!_ Now I have this gorgeous woman in my house, on my couch. She is someone that might mean something more than anyone else has since Godric passed away. I know I have to move on, but a big part of me does not want to give up mourning my lover. Sighing, I untangle my hair catching it in an elastic band I pull from a drawer. I save the task of shaving for another day.

I leave the light on and the door open and return to the living room. I manage to retrieve my laptop bag and start checking my emails. Many get-well messages pop up. I guess news travel fast. Also lots of business ones, each more urgent than the last so I start working on them. I should load the battery to my telephone and turn it on as well, as it went dead after calling Tray on the way here. I will. Tomorrow. At some point I fall back asleep.

~o~

The next morning comes without the comforting presence of Sookie.

However, she left a short, rather cryptic note on the back of her business card: _"Sorry for leaving like this, but I have to get to the office. I'm interested. S_," in a neat and feminine script. _Interested in what?_, I muse. _My job offer, my recovery, my house, my life, a future together?_ Or something more mundane, such as a fuck? I'm frustrated, but understand why she couldn't wait for me to awaken.

After moving around and preparing a bit for the day, having a coffee and a bite to eat in the kitchen, I plug in the phone to charge it and pick up some urgent paperwork.

After a particularly long telephone discussion, I notice among other missed calls Sookie's number. That was fast. Calling back, I try to calm my sudden anxiety.

"Hi! I hope I didn't wake you up or something." _Or something_, since merely hearing her voice causes my loose shorts to begin feeling uncomfortably tight again.

"No, no problem. It is nice to hear from you this soon." _Shit, I sound like a wuss._

"Umm, I found that your bag is still in my car's trunk. I will come by later to bring it back on my way home."

"Okay, I'd love to see you again." Then I realize that I still wear the same shirt as in the hospital that reeks after two days. Perhaps she too needs to get home first and clean-up as well. As much as I want to meet her again soon, I cannot have her see me like this.

"Or I tell you what: there is nothing too important in my overnight bag. Just come by tomorrow evening and we will have coffee together, Sookie. Or tea, if you prefer. I still have lots of food left from Tray's bag of goodies for me we could share."

There is a pause and she murmurs, "Okay, tomorrow it is then, at around six. Do you need me to bring something?"

"No, thank you, just yourself." _Where is the wall to bang my head into it?_

"Good bye Eric."

"Until tomorrow, Sookie."

I end the call and lie there, just staring into space with no thought whatsoever, just being, and bathing in the waves of her melodious voice.

My reverie is short lived, as Alcide arrives shortly, bringing fresh fruits and a large prosciutto pizza. He lets himself in with my security key, thankfully without his bitch of a fiancée in tow. He knows better than that.

He comes up and gives me a short hug, his green eyes roaming over my body. He is a sight for sore eyes, with his black tousled hair curly and thick, sparkling green eyes, slightly taller than me and with muscles more defined than mine. I am man enough to admit it he is the better physical specimen.

"How are you Eric?"

"I've been better. And worse." I dismiss my injury as a minor annoyance.

"Is your head still in one piece?"

"As you can well see, Beautiful." I toss my hair back in a flirtatious act of seduction. He rolls his eyes, knowing well my teasing is mostly just an act.

"Good, because we have lots to do. Overall, the opportunities I've uncovered are limitless. There are so many who have made nice money from smuggling in cigarettes from Russia and other shabby stuff that never dreamed of the wealth they'd make doing so. Now, these fairly modest souls realize they desperately need security for their gray businesses and opulent properties."

We start going through the latest contracts. I also insist we discuss the best prospects he found during his trip to Iaşi and various issues that arose during the short time I was absent.

A couple hours later, we have completed the more pressing stuff. After finishing our business for the day, we eat, and I listen as Alcide rambles about his wedding preparation. Who gives a shit about the color of the tablecloths? I wonder if he will wear a white dress, since he is obviously the pussy in this whole thing.

After that, Alcide helps me remove my clothes and settles me in the shower. It's awkward to keep my cast up on a chair and out of the splash of the water. Eventually I manage to soap and rinse myself.

"I wish you would join me." I shout from the stall.

"In your dreams, blondie." I can hear his strong laugh.

"Dreaming right now, and yet you still haven't stepped in."

"Well, keep on dreaming; just don't count me in if you fall on your butt in there."

"You are a cruel bastard, Alcide. I miss that about you."

He laughs and assists me out of shower, helping me to put on some comfortable clothes. He then pats my shoulder and leaves, taking his nice behind away with him.

Alcide is a great guy, loyal and compassionate. And a great lay, I can testify to that, too. At the tender age of 18, Alcide's father had hung himself after he had to sell his construction and security business to pay his debts acquired from his gaming at both Monaco and several Italian casinos. Pissing off the Cosa Nostra wasn't smart. Not smart at all. Alcide inherited only debts and a little sister to take care of as the new head of his family. His sister, Janice, is a good girl. Without money for any further education, not to mention taking care of his sibling, he left Belgium, entrusted Janice to his uncle in France, and joined the French Foreign Legion at the same time as I did. Back then, running away had seemed the best answer for me, too.

We met in Castelnaudary during our basic training time. As a Belgian, he was my appointed French speaking binôme [pair].Tray was our Sergeant-Chief, the best one in the entire unit. A couple of months into the training, after having enough of "Palm Sisters," I eventually wrangled some action out of Alcide. Not much, just exploring our bodies a bit.

The night we finally got into some serious stuff, he got too vocal and a senior NCO [Non-commissioned Officer] caught us in action. We were lucky that it was Capitaine Godric and no other. I will never forget his smoldering eyes as he observed a shivering Alcide and me together, that night. After ordering us to get dressed, he calmly explained that the Legion did not tolerate faggots. One report from him, and we would be out on our butts in less than 24 hours. Then he told us a chilling story. Until this very day, I still do not know if it was a real one or a figment of his imagination, a made-up parable to scare us.

_"When I was a young recruit, there was a guy who was gay and nobody knew up until he made his sick nature known. He made his move on a young Legionnaire in the middle of the night, and the young Legionnaire freaked, hauled his ass out of there and went to the others in his section. And justice was served, in their eyes. A few of the boys went to visit the homo in the middle of the night. Since he was a flamer, well, they thought that he should get what he deserved. They poured about five liters of gas on him and set him alight. So being gay in the kinder gentler world you lived in before may have been all right. There being gay is acceptable, and we all tolerate it. But the Legion is not in that world. You both get over it, or get the fuck out of here." _

Afterwards, he watched as we counted out 200 pushups and were made to march for 30 Km _[20 miles]_ with our 18 kilogram _[40 pounds]_ rucksack.

That was the last time I was intimate with Alcide, but the months of arduous training we had together cemented our friendship. It was a friendship that had withstood the separations of time and distance, both of us insisting that we keep in touch over the years. Eventually, we were able to form our business venture, and I knew he would make a good partner with the rest of us. Now, I saw him frequently, but we never renewed our more intimate relationship. I guess I was nothing more than an experiment to him.

However, after that incident, observing the heat in my NCO's gaze, I soon became obsessed with Godric. I was certain that in spite of the dismissive, sarcastic language he had used for us, he wanted me. His eyes had lingered on me for far too long for one who thought of us only as 'faggots.'  
He recognized it, of course, but never allowed anything to happen between us. He pretty much ordered me to go back home, finish my university classes, and to make a real life for myself. I eventually obeyed him, agreeing that taking orders in the Army was too daunting to consider, not to mention the self-imposed lack of sex the Legion expected. Still, at the time I joined, compared to my limited prospects looking after woolly sheep for the next five years, the Legion had seemed like a paradise. After the discipline of the military, returning to the University environment was a cakewalk.  
After coercing from him the promise to keep in touch, I chose to be discharged after the Legion's probationary six-month period. I'd seen enough that the Legion no longer seemed like a safe haven. That night, he rented a hotel room for us. Only one night of passion did he allow himself, but that was night was enough. I was his, completely, as surely as if he'd tattooed his name on my heart. Body and soul, I belonged to Godric.

Three years later, during which time we exchanged letters and saw each other no more than four times, he finally relented and came to stay with me permanently. Then, taking full advantage of Pam's connections, well, former connection since she was dead, I started Silver Shield Security Company and convinced him and Tray to join me in the business. Godric also brought in his younger brother, Rasul. Having two esteemed Foreign Legion veterans as partners opened many doors in Francophile high circles and our business fortunes soared. Now we are the top security company in Romania.

Two years later, and Alcide had joined us, too. By that time, he was nothing like the kid I had met five years earlier. He came to us with a protégé, Sami, a Tutsi black boy he had adopted during his travels. Sadly, Amadi died of AIDS in his arms less than a year later. Even if Alcide is younger than I am, he looks older now, the sadness from his many losses and seeing the cruelty of the world permanently etched in his face.

Just like Tray, Alcide clings desperately to our semblance of normality. Serving in the Legion, even if not as long as Tray or Godric, he saw enough horrors in Rwanda, as his unit joined Blue Helmets, to last a lifetime. Now he just wants a wife in bitch-Debbie and a house full of children. He has the house, thanks to our prosperous business, but the woman... How can he be so blind is beyond me. Debbie is nothing more than a nasty, skinny, gold digger.  
I hope I won't be making a similar mistake with my infatuation for Sookie. No, I can't imagine there is anything fake about her.

Tomorrow I will see her again; the hours can't pass quickly enough until our next meeting.

* * *

**_A/N_**

_Disclaimer: Again, none of these characters belongs to me, only their emotions are mine._

_The French Foreign Legion gets missions among the most ominous military operations around the globe. Their odds are one in 10 to be killed in action. Even if not French by blood, the Legionnaires consider themselves __French_ _by __spilled blood_. _In it, you can find about 1,500 Romanians serving in various positions. I know some folks that have been in the service. Some came back home still sane, but others, not so much._

_If you don't know about the Rwanda Genocide, check into it on Wikipedia. You will see what can happen in the absence of compassion and tolerance._

_I am grateful to my amazing beta, **Scattered21. **I'm not complete without you.I also want to thank** YoungBoho, Peppermintyrose **and all my friends for encouraging me with this._

**_I appreciate each review; your thoughts keep this story moving._**


	12. A Clear Case of FootinMouth Disease

_**A/N**_

_This is a necessary chapter, so please don't shoot me._

**12. A Clear Case of Foot-in-Mouth Disease**

**SPOV**

I arrive at the office ten minutes past nine, only to be greeted by the sour face of Ada. "Did you miss finding your way home?" is her rude welcome.

"No, I did not, and good morning to you, too." _(Bitch!)_ "You obviously have misplaced your manners today."

Grinning to myself, I leave her standing open-mouthed in the hallway to catch flies and head to the boss's office.  
I apologize for yesterday's absence, and offer the abridged version of the accident, showing Bill the medical certificate. After reassuring him that I am fine to return to work, I walk back to my desk in the reception area.

Head held high, I can't help noticing my colleagues glancing at me while having whispered discussions. _Let them talk._

By lunchtime, I finish two reports for Bill. I also make some calls confirming his meetings and complete the remainder of the most pressing items that accumulated on my desk during my absence.

I announce to no one in particular that I am leaving for lunch. All the others are back from their own lunch breaks and this time don't pay any attention to me as I walk toward the stairs. Away from the prying eyes of my work colleagues, I fish out my mobile and punch in Eric's number. No answer. _Maybe he is sleeping again._

At the nearby buffet, I select a dish of leeks and olives and absentmindedly nibble at it, musing over Eric's job offer. _Did he really mean it? He hardly knows me. I thought he would be interested in me on a more personal level. At least I hoped so. Working together would be a serious impediment to developing any sort of long-term relationship. I am not the kind of girl to sleep with her boss._  
I stare at the mostly untouched food in front of me. _Not that I would not be interested in him in that way, _I hedge. The unfamiliar ringtone on my mobile provides a welcome distraction. It is Eric. _Perhaps it is a sign._

Breathless with anticipation, our conversation is low-key and disappointing. He politely declines my offer to meet with him today after work. After we ring off, my thoughts are a jumbled mess. Maybe he has guests staying with him? _Another woman? Another man? _I am pathetic in my worrying. At least he said something about meeting for coffee tomorrow evening. Without answers and no way to find out, I'm left staring dejectedly into space. My appetite is gone now, and I pack my food into a plastic container to carry home to my empty house.

The all-too-common fate of the single woman: dinner for one.

The rest of the day seems too long, even if there is plenty of work to keep me busy. I can't wait for five o'clock to arrive. In minutes, I've cleaned off my desk, grabbed my purse and leftovers, and am out of the building, my small, welcoming car my only friend.

~o~

Back home again, my life is just as I left it four days ago. The sameness nearly overwhelms me. I'm saved only by the flowers in my garden, wilted and begging for my attentions after my days spent enjoying time with and tending to Eric. With my only close family long gone, I've no one to greet me, just the ongoing neglect of chipped paint and tumbled, cracked stones on the garden's path. The loneliness nearly overwhelms me before I set about my tasks, watering the garden, and sweeping away the fallen blooms.

My dilapidated home is located in the old Jewish quarter of Bucharest. What was once my grandfather's pride, along with his merchants business, has now fallen into disrepair and comes close to qualifying as a ruin. But there's a history behind this sorry state of the house and gardens.

After my grandfather's death, President Ceauşescu's goal, as a good Communist, was to erase all reminders of the non-Communist good times before World War II. He fulfilled his self-imposed mission with a vengeance.  
Spiteful of the luxury enjoyed by some, he even took out his anger on the old beautiful houses he was unable to bulldoze, filling them with either his acolytes or gypsies.  
Grandfather's home had the misfortune to become the chosen shelter of the latter. Or good fortune, perhaps, given that we would never have been able to evict the first kind of 'tenants.' It was hard enough with that dreadful family living above us. At all hours, they were drinking, cursing us, and dumping urine down the outside of our windows. When we had the chance to evict them, Gran took care of the details, attending court hearings to remove the unlawful tenants and obtain the paperwork to return the grand old house to our sole custody. The hearings dragged over seven years until they came to the obvious resolution: _'The house belongs to the Stackhaus family, and the squatters have to evacuate it.'_ When that glorious day finally arrived, we were appalled at the destruction they had left behind: countless bags of horrible filth, fixtures smashed or ripped out, holes left in the walls that were never repainted during 40 years, and ruined heating stoves. Broken windows and window frames were expected, but at every rainstorm, one could take a shower in the living room from the leaks in the roof—the damage they caused to the structure was wanton and malicious.

Without any money for repairs but grandmother's pension, we had to sell some land to raise the money to make the space secure. Unfortunately, the Communists had also nationalized that, too, some 60 years ago, necessitating another legal battle. Changing the tin roof, fixing the neglected plumbing, installing central heating and repainting the interior were expensive endeavors. Still the exterior, windows, bathrooms and kitchen have had to wait, frozen in time much like our family lived during the previous century. Repairs to this house will probably swallow more money than I will ever earn in my lifetime. But I must try, for myself, for my grandparents, for the memories.

So here it is, home sweet home.  
Once inside, doors locked and lights turned down to conserve energy, I tried hard not to think about my imperfect life and the large blond man with the perfect home, perfect body, powerful bike, butter-soft leather couch, a delicious bulge in his pants... _Oh God!_

~o~

The next day goes by in a blur, and soon it is time to leave. I buy a bottle of fresh squeezed orange juice as a small gift and drive to Eric's house.

As I step inside the unlocked yard enclosure, I marvel again at the unusual exotic building with its intricate blue patterns. There are no flowers here, only a neat lawn and a few decorative small trees. Neglect of another type, I suppose. Near the trash bin, on the ground, there is a tipped-over cellophane-wrapped gift basket, full of delicacies, with a red liquid, probably wine, dripping from it. _How did that end up here?_

After waiting some time in front of his door, I hear his heavy steps, due to the crutches, and then Eric opens it. My heart skips a beat as I take in his stunning physical presence. He shaved, and his hair is loose in soft waves over his shoulders, framing his strong features. His leonine presence so dominates the space, I'm almost too dazzled to appreciate the mouthwatering views of his powerful arms and legs. His eyes look rather green now, catching the hue of his top. His supple lips curl up in a beautiful welcoming smile.

He is easily the most handsome man I have ever seen. I cannot help but wonder what this ugly duckling is expecting here? His eyes roam over me from head to toe, triggering a blush as I sort through uncomfortable feelings, well aware of my mouse-like demeanor in the face of such heart stopping masculine beauty. I am glad that at least I wore heels and a skirt, a pinstriped black one, plus a sheer white shirt, with my nicest beige bra with black embroidery. Well, matching panties too, just in case, a very improbable hope, I know. I look down, praying I am not blushing too hard.

"You look good enough to eat." The pink tip of his tongue welcomes me too, as he moistens his perfectly kissable lips.

"Thank you. So do you."I give him a small smile. I wish I could see myself through his eyes, and understand what he sees in me.

"There is a gift basket outside, on the ground." I say pointing in its direction.

"I know."

"Do you want me to bring it in?" I am confused by his brisk answer.

"Just leave it where it is." His sharp tone and sudden aloof manner startles me.

Closing his eyes, he adds, after taking a deep breath. "Will you please come inside?"

My brief surge of exuberance dashed by his sudden business-like tone, I follow him into the living room. "Do you want coffee, Sookie? I know it is late. I also have some green-jasmine or rose hip tea," he offers when we get inside.

"Coffee is fine. Caffeine has no effect on me."

"Cappuccino? Espresso?"

"Cappuccino, please. May I help?"

"Yes. Will you please hand me two cups from that cabinet? A large one, and a smaller one.

I find the cups he wants, enjoying the smooth touch of the frail translucent china. Fascinated, I watch him as he expertly makes use of the big coffee machine on the counter top, fumbling with coffee, sugar, and cinnamon containers. I could easily get used to playing house around here, with him. I wonder if he should be standing on his one good leg for long periods of time, but won't embarrass him by asking.

"I like your house, it is very beautiful. Though, it is not what I imagined to be your style. Do you live alone in this huge palace?" I am quite sure he lives here by himself; however, this seems a safe way to find out more about him.

"What did you envision for me? Me living in a dank cave covered in furs?" I hear him chuckling.

"Not exactly" _even if that would be a sight to behold. Eric in nothing but animal skins... Yummy..._ "Actually something more modern, with minimalist decor."

"Pass the milk from the fridge, please," he replies, not exactly answering my question.

From the fridge, I collect the milk and place the juice I brought him on a high shelf. There are many groceries on the shelves today. _I wonder who brought them. Tray, or maybe that girl he mentioned, Amelia? Or perhaps he does not live alone here, after all. _All this 'getting to know each other' is a process with which I have little experience.

After he finishes his preparations, I pick up both our cups. Thinking he'll be more at ease sitting down, I carry them to the living room, setting them on top of the coffee table.

"So how was work? Did you have any trouble after taking time off yesterday?" he asks after he finds a comfortable position for his leg on the couch.

"Okay, I guess. I'm fairly busy because our company is offering a new seminar on assertiveness for our customers. It will be this Friday; should be an exciting event. I will be taking care of the event's catering and the attendee's check-in. I fully intend to eavesdrop on the lecture."

"Assertiveness? I know the word, but I'm not sure why a Pharma company would offer a seminar on the subject."

"For some, it's about relearning how to stay true to yourself and communicate your needs and desires. This event is a little different, because the program will emphasize the role of collaboration in achieving your goals." _And I could certainly use some training in setting and maintaining my personal boundaries, especially among my colleagues._  
I then launch into a detailed explanation, details gleaned from the materials I read about the seminar. Seems like my enthusiasm is contagious, and he asks me if I can squeeze him in. I giggle at the image of a two-meter blond giant with a cast on his food trying to look inconspicuous.

"I can try, but I'm not sure that will work. But I could bring you a copy of the printed materials."

"I'd appreciate it. Would you also be so kind as to give me the lecturer's contact information? I can contact the organization directly."

"Sure will." I enter a note into my mobile for follow-up and look up to see him watching me.

"How about you, Eric? Does your leg still ache?"

"It's healing, so now it's more about some itching I can't scratch. In about a week, I should be able to remove this stupid cast and wear a removable support. Then I'll start going out again. I hate being under house arrest."

There is a long gap in the conversation as I search for words to fill the growing silence in the room. Meantime I cautiously sip the scalding liquid covered in white foam.  
I wonder if he is willing to talk about his work, and the subject he opened the day before yesterday, the job offer.

"About that..." and "Have you considered..." we blurt at the same time.

"You first." Spoken at the same time, again.

It might have been laughable, except that unlike him, I'm gesturing for him to continue. In my excitement, I forget that I am holding the mostly full cup and saucer in my hands. Naturally, more than half of its contents instantly spill, flying in an arc towards him. Acting on reflex to catch it, I only succeed in having it tumble through the air, spilling the rest on myself.

_Fuuck! That burns! _

My coffee is now sprayed over both our shirts and the brown leather couch between us.

_Can't believe how much coffee was in just one damn cup!_ _At least the porcelain did not break._

Feeling foolish, I stare glumly at the mess I've made.

Eric's movement snaps me out of my stupor. He sheds his green top and starts to wipe the coffee from the furniture.

"Gosh, I'm so sorry. I ruined your shirt and the couch. Please give me that, I will clean up."

"The leather is dark; there won't be any visible stains. And this is an old shirt, don't worry about it. But perhaps you will want to rinse out your pretty blouse."

I glance down to see the now splattered white fabric, the brown liquid dripping down the skirt, the foamy milk and cinnamon powder clinging to the material. I bet even the bra got stained. _Shit._

"I'll give you something to change into. Come."

Grabbing his shirt, I'm the humble penitent.. At least I get to admire his wonderfully chiseled backside caressed by the long locks of his hair as he limps along a wide hallway on his crutches. The way his taunt muscles move beneath his golden skin is mesmerizing. His shorts are riding low on his hips, no hint of any underwear to impede my access to his firm, round ass I imagine beneath the faded cotton. His back dimples are fully exposed; I long to dip my tongue in those sexy indentations as I tug his shorts lower. My fingers are itching from restraining myself from grabbing him from behind. I never understood that a woman might have to struggle to keep her hands off a man, but here I am, digging my nails into my palms, ogling the gray fabric of his shorts as if I could see through it if I stare hard enough.

By the time I step into his bedroom, I have completely forgotten the reason for being there. I can only drink in his half-naked form, standing in the middle of this beautiful room, a huge four-poster bed with carved pillars right in front of us. I cannot remember the last time I was in a man's bedroom. Or, rather, I could, but would rather not. This is a rather opulent room, for a single man living alone. In fact, this room and the bathroom I saw the other day have a quality I would define as sybaritic. Almost as if someone had purposely prepared them as such, anticipating something at which I can only guess.

My throat feels dry, and I wish I had something to slake my thirst. I try to distract my raging hormones by focusing on something other than Eric's body, while he begins rummaging in a big closet.

On one of his side tables, there is a white candle and the picture of a slightly older, dark-haired man. He has exotic features, reminiscent of a timeless beauty. The haunted brown eyes of the handsome man seemingly look right at me from the thick, black, wooden photo frame. A sad smile enhances the beauty of his sensual lips while an aura of strength seems to radiate from him.

I keep pictures of Gran, my parents and my brother all around the house. Even though they are gone, they make the big house seem somehow less empty. I do not see an immediate resemblance between this man and Eric, but I guess he must be a member of Eric's family.

"I love family pictures. Especially the ones taken with my parents and my brother. Having those around helps me recall so many happy childhood memories." Some sad ones too, but I wisely refrain from sharing that sentiment with him.  
I continue my rambling in a misguided attempt to dampen my flaming attraction to his out-of-this-world sexiness.

"Is this your father, or a brother?" I ask politely, pointing to the photo.

"Just an old friend." His voice sounds strange, strained and depressed.

"Ah, I didn't think I saw any family resemblance. Do you still stay in touch?" I can't think of any friends I'd keep a memento of by my bed, but then I don't have a lot of friends.

"He's dead."

"Oh, Eric. I'm so sorry." Even as I speak the words, I'm wondering about the nature of their friendship.

He grunts his thanks, and I settle down on a chair in the corner where I can more closely examine the photo of the man with the sensual lips. I'd like to pick up the frame, but content myself with leaning forward, Eric's back turned to me concealing my actions.

We lapse into an easy silence for the next few moments as the sounds of Eric's digging through the clothes in his walk-in closet fill the room for a while. I wonder if he feels the same attraction towards me as I feel for him, or am I simply imaging the racketing up of the tension between us.

Looking for a neutral topic, I speak without thinking, curious about the man in the photograph. "So, did you two grow up in the same neighborhood, perhaps?"

"No, that's not a reminder of my upbringing. He was just a friend I made after I left home." Eric's tone is harsh, laced with a warning I finally catch.

"Oh!" I let my eyes roam over the large nearby bed, covered with a crimson heavy cotton coverlet. _Might this be possible? _I'm bewildered by the revelation, and unthinkingly whisper the question to myself.

Raising my eyes towards him, I realize he just heard me. I am met by a steely look. His lips set in a straight line, his jaw forms an obstinate angular shape. When he finally opens it to answer, I flinch at his intimidating tone.

"He was my lover. Do you have a problem with that?" His voice is challenging. His whole demeanor is spiteful and defensive, with knuckles turning white as he grips a starched white shirt, almost tearing it into shreds. I am suddenly frightened, noticing that I appear to be caged in with a wild, dangerous animal.

Stepping back, I reply in a shaky voice, "No. No, I don't. I'm so sorry for your loss..."  
Mentally adding,_ 'For being so foolish, for refusing to read the signs, for lacking the required equipment that might interest you...'  
_"I didn't mean to..." _fall for a gay man, "_...offend you," I lamely finish up.

I dare to glance back up at him. He has his head lowered, his face partially hidden under the curtain of his golden hair. He now looks sad and defeated. I have not seen him like this before, even on the hospital bed. He avoids looking at me, pointedly fixing his gaze on the picture instead. However, I can see the glitter of tears pooling in his eyes.

"I apologize, it is just... It's hard. And wrong," he mumbles, voice thick with tears.  
_Wrong? What? Me being in here? _I wonder.

"I'm sorry, I'm just tired." His voice sounds strangled. I start to reach for his hand, but hesitate. He is obviously hurting. Would comforting him be something I should do? I would like to hug him, but I am not sure how would he interpret my action.

My heart aches for his pain, and I bite back my many questions. _What happened to this lover of his? How long were they together? Was Eric present when he died?_

He scrambles away from my outstretched hand, letting the shirt in his hand fall to the floor and dropping on the bed with a muffled sob.

"I'm exhausted, please... excuse me." He hides his face in both palms, shaking.  
I've never seen a man crying, and I feel a void in my stomach. What am I supposed do? I don't believe he wants others to see him like this, so very vulnerable. I am at a loss for words, so like a coward, I take the easy way out.  
"No problem, I will see myself out," I offer, but not before I move to his side and stroke his hair in comfort. I stop when I realize my touch is making his shoulders shake even more.

Aghast that my attempt at comforting him is making it worse, I jerk my hand away and almost stumble over the crutches lying on the floor. Disheartened and disappointed by everything I've learned, I leave the room, the house, and most likely his life.

I get in my car and lean my forehead against the driver's wheel. _Stupid! I made such a fool of myself. I so wanted a damn fairytale, I turned a blind eye to the simple truth - this was way too good to be true. I've nothing against gays, even though I've never met one until today. Homosexuality is a taboo subject in my country, unlike certain others. However, while I fully support human rights for all, gay or straight, I can't help asking: why did it have to be Eric. Why? _

_Hot__ tears stain my cheeks before I gather myself, and shelving my shattered dreams, I straighten up and start the engine.  
It doesn't matter anyway, _I tell myself._ Such a guy, even without being gay, would be too good for me. I am just a simple, stupid, blond secretary. Just plain ol' crazy Sookie. __**Damn it!**_I shout, glad for once there is no one to overhear my cry of pain over yet another shattered dream.

I'm only dimly aware that my fist aches from hitting the dashboard, and I am close to leaping from the car and screaming my frustrations at the passersby on the street. If I don't calm down soon, anyone walking by might be able to hear me and wonder what is wrong with me, possibly even calling for the police._ Can't have that!_ I take a few shuddering breaths, put the car into gear, and with blurred vision hindering my efforts, I somehow manage to get my stupid self home.

* * *

_**A/N**_

_Eric has his reasons for behaving so stupidly. In the next chapter, you will hear his side of the story._

_For the tale behind Sookie's story, I was inspired from my own family's inheritance saga. No part of it is an exaggeration._

_There is a video linked in my profile, for this chapter, about similar houses in my town.  
_

_My ever-gracious beta __**Scattered21**__, aka__** PrincessTweak **__- she is as brilliant ever.__Special thanks for __**YoungBoho**__ who provided great inspiration for this chapter. Also, thank you to __**Peppermintyrose**__ and __**all of you**__, my reading friends. Your reviews will bring Eric's point of view sooner._

_Disclaimer__: Eric in furry outfit or leather pants, or skimpy jeans... oh, shush, is not mine *cries*. Neither are the rest of characters._


	13. Dreams and Wounds From Long Ago

_**A/N: Angst warning!**__ This chapter is mostly about Eric struggling with his demons._

**13 Dreams and Wounds From Long Ago**

_**EPOV**_

I awaken after a restless nap to an unbearable itch, my hand clawing fruitlessly at the cast covering my fractured fibula. I yank the long-handled spoon off the tray by my head, but it won't travel far enough under the cast. I'm sweating and barely holding in my anger, ready to rip the damn thing away and take my chances with the healing. And to top it all off, the telephone keeps on ringing with one work emergency after another. Confined to my house, my only link to the outside world is to sit and talk with disgruntled clients. Whatever I did to deserve this, please God, don't let me ever do it again.

During a small break in the torture, I decide I will ask Tray or Alcide to take me to the office so I can see some other faces besides my own. I can already hear their protests that the doctor told me to stay in bed for at least two weeks, but I'll threaten to find them and dismember them when I'm healthy again if they don't rescue me. That should get their butts moving.

It is so damn hard to just sit here like a sick dog all day long.

Tamara, my housekeeper, arrived earlier this morning, bringing groceries as I requested. I usually eat out, so my refrigerator is never stocked with more than drinks, frozen pizza, waffles, and ice cream.

Once Tamara has cleaned my personal space, I hop back into the bedroom while she finishes up the laundry, vacuuming, and dusting the place. She is a quiet widow, very efficient in her work. She has worked for me for several years primarily because she never bothers me with useless chats. I don't want to hear about her daughter-in-law's fifth pregnancy or how well her grandson is doing at the Academy.

I've been avoiding my bedroom since being brought home by my new friend Sookie after the accident. And I am painfully aware of the reason why—it is this photo. I keep it on my bedside, day and night, reminder of his dear face.  
**Godric.  
**My world was once contained within his name.  
Then it all ended, and I found myself outside looking in on my life, forced to find new reasons to go forward, to get up every morning. I've been living like this for the last three years.

Now I wonder if it may be time to set this picture aside. Perhaps...

"Mr. Northman, a package has been delivered for you." I hear through the closed bedroom door. "Do you want me to accept it, so you don't have to come out here?"

"Yes, please do."

After a time, Tamara returns to inform me, "It is a beautiful basket, overflowing with choice foods and a bottle of wine. I left it in the kitchen for you, sir." When I don't respond, she continues with a little less confidence, "I've completed my work for the day. Do you require anything else from me, sir?"

"No, Tamara, thank you. You may leave. But before you go, please open my bedroom door so I won't have to hobble over on the crutches again."

"Of course, Mr. Northman. And thank you, sir. Please have a good day."

Finally alone, I decide to indulge myself, making use of the lube I keep in the bedside table. Struggling out of my pants and briefs, I sink into the pillows my housekeeper has so nicely arranged for me. My eyes linger on his photo as my hand begins its familiar motion, a slow, repetitive stroke over my long length, still healthily springing to attention at just the thought of him. I focus on the day I snapped the photo. It was shortly before our breakup. And we were so obliviously happy. Or, at least I was happy, believing us to be totally in love with one another. I had just bought this house for us and was barely containing my excitement thinking about his reaction. I concealed the information of the purchase because I wanted it to be a surprise, but every day I had to restrain myself from shaking him awake and shouting the news.

I close my eyes and concentrate, imagining his face after I would have told him: at first complete shock, and then overwhelming joy, his feelings lighting up his handsome features like a Christmas tree. I envision his reaction at learning our house would be a special, shared haven for the two of us. The one place where we could be ourselves, and we could leave the outside world behind. Here we would be safe, free to make love on this very bed, in the bathroom, or bent over the couch. Stroking my fierce erection in tune with my long practiced fantasy, I'm momentarily interrupted by the fleeting image of a naked, heavy-breasted blonde, splayed out for my enjoyment on the same couch.

Now is not the time, I wearily admonish myself**. **_**I focus on his talented lips and tongue, strong hands caressing every inch of my body, his firm body behind me, pressing me into the mattress. I imagine it is his hand, instead of mine, and for a split second, I swear I can smell a whiff of his scent, the heavy mysterious perfume I still keep in the bathroom combined with his sweat**__._ I loved to make him sweat, to have our scents merge through vigorous bending, twisting, and grinding of skin-on-skin. He almost never did when engaged in his usual activities, unless he was _exerting_a tremendous amount of effort. And yet when we were locked in our passion, we would sweat a lot, together. His effort was mine, and I claimed it jealously.

A sweet aroma suddenly hits me, and I cease my movements to look around for the source. Sookie? I swear I can smell her here. But that's impossible; she hasn't even been in my bedroom yet. And even if I do have a keen sense of smell, it is impossible to scent her presence from yesterday in another room.

I reapply myself to my task, adding another drop of lube to my palm, and hand returned to its position of comfort around my even harder cock, I indulge myself in an impossible fantasy of both Godric and Sookie in here, beneath me and bent over me_. Oh, fuck!_  
_**Rock-hard muscles beneath silky skin, embodiment of his male strength engulfing me. Steel sword in its sweet velvety sheath taking hold of me, possessing me, making me his, making me whole. Whispered words of adoration for me, him reciting Rumi's rhymes in the ancient Farsi. Words that heal the scars of my soul, like a heavenly balm.  
Small soft hands and larger strong ones, touching, stroking, caressing. Her sweet mouth kissing me while another takes firm hold of my aching flesh. Soft and feminine curves, demanding to be touched, caressed, worshiped. Tender, warm, and wet passage, caressing me with soft folds and gentle movements. The place to take refuge from the outside world, from myself.**_

__I'm drifting in an imaginary sensory overload as I increase thetempo of my strokes.  
My phone unexpectedly rings just as I'm about to shoot cum all over my stomach. I groan, and note the "Private Number" message on the face before I switch it off. It takes every ounce of restraint I possess to refrain from smashing it to pieces on the headboard for intruding on such an intimate, happy moment for me. I return to my fantasy with a fresh determination to see this out.

_**Blue irises, rays of life and joy, and serious, deep, black ones, exuding an unearthly flaming passion fill my vision.**_

_**I would give Sookie the same passion as I receive from her. I would touch her as no one has touched her before me. I would kiss her, engulf her mouth, and steal away her moans, swallowing her pleasure as my own. I would feel her thrashing and wriggling beneath me while I covered her all-consuming desire with my body and my soul. I would drink her in through every pore, feasting on the joy that only she can give. And I would return it to her, multiplied tenfold.**_

_**The stroking, the words, the imagery, the need for them both, together, all-too-soon overwhelms me, and I feel the sensations bloom deep inside me as I clench and then come in heavy spurts, filling Sookie with my hot, creamy semen. In my passion, I feel Godric filling me and between the two of them, I liquefy, I dissolve, I slow, until there is nothing left of the old me.**_

Panting and short of breath, I slowly come down from one of the most powerful orgasms I've experienced alone. When my breathing slows, I lie still in my sadly all-too-empty bed, contemplating my daydream.

I don't really know Sookie, but imagining my dead lover Godric agreeing to share me with a woman is inconceivable.

I still remember his disappointment when he found my old Hustlers collection. His disappointment soon morphed into anger, at me, and himself, with the knowledge that I could have had a _'normal'_ life, with a wife and children, and instead chose to be with a _'monster'_ like himself. It was knowledge that ate at him like an illness.

He always considered himself a failure for being gay, and for the many lives he took during battle. I tried to comfort him, but he refused to listen to me. Yet I could not have imagined a more compassionate soul than the one hidden behind his hard exterior.  
I knew he would never accept himself due to his past. In his culture, his family could dismiss him fucking another man as just "_something that men do."_ His preference was accepted as actions that could be explained away. That changed, though, when he fell for one of his classmates and tried to explain his feelings to his family. The revelation of his affair, deeper than just a physical one with another man, brought down their wrath upon him. Being exclusively gay is unacceptable in Arab culture. Scrambling for a solution, they tried to set up a quick arranged marriage. It didn't work, because Godric couldn't be intimate with a woman. I hurt for him when finally told me how desperate he was as he realized he would never be able to perform as a man with a woman. He considered himself a eunuch. It was devastating, as that was uncommon in his culture for a gay man. Sadly, most of them would live a dual life, carrying on their duty as husband while indulging in hidden relationships with other men.  
Godric refused to impose a false life on the girl chosen for him. As Godric was the eldest son, one that refused to marry and carry on his line, his father disowned him, and had him beaten half-to-death. He lived on the streets for a while, hiding out from family and friends, and then joined the French Foreign Legion. For Godric, a sensitive person, it was a decision best described by the old phrase '_out of the frying pan, and into the fire.'  
_I will forever remember how his eyes filled with tears of shame for not living up to his family's expectations, and how he never got over the sense of himself as a lesser man because of it.

Sighing, I venture into the bathroom, managing this time to clean and shave without any help.

Hobbling into the kitchen for a quick bite to take the edge off, I inspect the basket, but there is no card, only an unsigned "Get Well Soon" message attached. I take a package of fresh cookies from it and return to the living room. There I switch back on the annoying cell phone, counting ten new messages, as I make ready to return to my work while crunching through the treats. My nose twitches in memory, the rich aroma of the baked goods reminding me of Sookie. Ah, it must have been this smell that I detected earlier in my bedroom.

Sometime later, the telephone's face lights up, indicating another call from the mysterious 'Private Number.' I hate it when that happens, because it's often someone with whom I don't wish to speak. But my routine and obligations demand I answer every call. "Yes?"

"_Hello son."_ My brain freezes at the sound of a voice I have not heard in a long time.

"_I have been told that you had a motorcycle accident. I hope your injury wasn't too serious. If you like, I can send you my personal physician."_

"That won't be necessary. And don't call me that."

"_What? 'My son', you are such a hypocrite. I know you missed me, Eric. Don't you long for your daddy to take care of you? I could come and tuck you in your bed, just like old times."_ His deep laugh fills me with dark memories of my childhood. Cold nights with a strong body pressed to mine, an overwhelming presence igniting unusual, forbidden pleasures in my scrawny pubescent body...

I shake with disgust at the memories, feeling once again the bile rise in my throat. "Shut. Up. Don't call me again, Appius. Ever. This is the last warning I'll give you."

He caused more than his fair share of damage in my life as a child, and as a teenager, but as an adult, I now have a choice. And sanity demands that I stay far away from him.

Unperturbed, he continues with, _"I hope you enjoyed my gift, my son. I personally chose your favorite food and wine."_

I feel the contents of my stomach turning into concrete, weighing heavily on me, a sign I'm soon to be sick. I end the call, but can't prevent my reaction, pitching the phone as far from me as possible, barely noticing in my agitation that it shatters into shards of hard plastic, metal parts, and batteries when it makes contact with the wall.

How I HATE that bastard.  
I hate him for thinking once that he loved me, and far worse, that I loved him, too. Without him, my mom would be alive. In fact, Godric would be alive, a thought that torments me every day of my existence. And I wouldn't be such a fuck-up.

When I manage to calm down a bit, I get up, take the basket from the kitchen, and I throw it in the direction of the garbage bin outside. Slamming the door, I hobble back to bed to brood.

Evening comes after replaying countless scenarios of getting him out of my life, once-and-for-all. I wish I knew what Pam had over him. Unfortunately, she never shared it with me. He has connections, but nothing in comparison with hers. And she was a mean bitch when she wanted to be, even with her own brother. I miss her sharp personality and biting wit. She wasn't the motherly type, and yet she was perfect just as she was.

_Such a shitty day! Unexpectedly, I find I am craving Sookie's calming presence, which somehow serves to grounds me. I haven't felt like that about another person for a long time._

Eventually, as the sun sinks lower in the sky, she comes to me. She is a vision, with her tight skirt and sheer blouse. She never seems more beautiful than under the soft drape of the evening sun; the streaming rays dance across her hair, kiss her golden skin, and are reflected in her shining blue eyes. Her soft and inviting curves ignite in me a strong impulse to grab her, throw her on the couch and have my way with her, erasing the memory of the rest of this day.

But she has to talk to me about Appius's gut-churning gift, and all my excitement vanishes.

She also asks about certain aspects of the house, but this doesn't surprise me. I know she is intelligent and observant. She doesn't disappoint regarding my home, and I deftly dodge the uncomfortable part of her questioning.

Feeling hospitable at finally have such delightful company, I once again offer to make coffee for us. I appreciate the fact that she can relax and enjoy a cup with me after 5 P.M., and we fall into an easy conversation.

Just as I am about to inquire if she has considered the job offer, she somehow manages to spill her cup of coffee on the furniture and us. I know I sometimes make women nervous, and rather than being irritated by her inattention, I'm feeling very solicitous. Poor girl, she looks like a Dalmatian with coffee all over her. About to cry, too. To see her cry would be too much, considering my own emotional state.  
Acting impulsively, I offer to bring her something from my closet to wear so she can rinse out her pretty blouse.

Entering my bedroom where I so recently took her in my fantasy, I pick up the lingering scent of sex. Images of the three of us in bed, straining, groaning, grunting play in my mind, arousing me yet again_. Yeah, attacking her now, after 'luring' her into my bedroom, plus coming from a guy with a broken leg, would be 'really smooth'._

Slightly aroused none-the-less, I hide in my closet, willing my erection to subside. As I rummage around, moving hangers, shifting sweaters and shoes to kill time and calm my boner, I chastise myself for not wearing some briefs today. Doing so would have saved me about ten minutes of this maddening pretence. But I prefer going commando; just like the freedom of movement. She's probably bored waiting for me, my suspicion confirmed when I hear her asking about family pictures. I hold my breath as I remember Godric's photo, sitting as always on the nightstand by my bed.

_I should have never brought her in here. It is a mistake on so many levels._

Then she starts talking about her childhood, and family, and memories. And her sweet voice drones on, and on...

Each word is like a fist to my gut. I want to cover my ears. I cannot have this conversation, not after today, not after talking with Appius. My family is gone, a reality in which he played a heavy role. And I am shrinking under the unrelenting pressure of her gentle questioning.

She even asks if Godric was my father! I feel like I'm drowning on dry land. I remember another time, three years back, when the two of them had met, for the first and only time. Appius was grinning at Godric as if they shared a bond, patting my behind and acting as if the two of them shared a secret. _Me!_

She then asks if he is my brother, which triggers another memory of his words, when he would in jest and love call me his everything, _**"Father, brother, son..."**_ Maybe he was my father in a way, as he loved me as no one had before him. At least until he decided we were just a big mistake, courtesy of Appius arriving back in my life. Appius, whose heavy-handed innuendo forced me to tell Godric all about my past, all about the years of abuse I had suffered at his hands.

_What should__ I call him now? Friend? An "old friend' should suffice to satisfy this woman._

She then inquires if we stay in touch. I tremble; more than a little afraid I might burst into hysterical laughter. No, after coming clean to Godric about the years of abuse, he didn't want to "stay in touch" anymore. Somehow, I manage to swallow my reaction, shoving it aside. Thank God for closets.  
And am I lying if don't tell her his ghostly apparition and my hands are very good bed partners? Does that qualify as keeping in touch?  
So I simply tell her that he died, suddenly beyond desperate to end this discussion.

Of course, she is so fucking sweet, offering me her sympathy in such a compassionate tone. But I don't want anyone's pity. I know I am wretched. I so don't need another reminder of it.

I finally remember why I am in here, and fumble through the shirt section in search of a white, short-sleeved one for her.

After a brief reprieve, the probing continues. "So, did you two grow up in the same neighborhood, perhaps?" I am at a loss for words.

_Can__ she not take a hint? Why does she keep bugging me about this subject?_ I turn to her, barely able to restrain myself from screaming, _"SHUT UP_!" Instead, I just shut her words off in the hope that she will drop the subject.  
Too many times, I have had to dodge similar questions. Godric wasn't comfortable with _**us**_ being _**'out.'**_ That frustrated me to no end. I was ready to fight for what we had together. He was not. The only thing that my mighty warrior was afraid of was other people's prejudices. Me? I don't take shit from anyone.

I emerge from the closet to see the knowledge of my relationship bloom in her face, and the unbearable disbelief that floods her features. There it is. I am 'OUT' once again. I know that look, and know that all too soon, it will be replaced by disgust...

The memories of other people's eventual disgust and dismissal come back with a roar, kicking and screaming, lashing out, shredding my sanity. Seeing red, I let go, flushing it all out of hiding, unable to cap off my waves of despair. The pull of that dark, haunted place I keep hidden away overwhelms me.

After my outburst, all my daring fades away. My knees give out on me, and I crumble onto the bed, hands covering my face to hide the tears washing my cheeks. She evens try to soothe me, but all I want is to be left alone, to let myself be consumed whole by the heart-wrenching pain.

When I return to reality, she is gone_. _

_I am a jerk_. _Fuck, what all did I tell her? Now, it is all ruined between us. _After I lose control, bite her head off, and cry like a girl, what else could she possibly do but despise my sorry ass. And why wouldn't she? Not even Godric could accept all of me. It was hard enough for me to just accept myself. I am a fool for imagining there could be anyone, out there, just for me. Just like my home, I am nothing but a cold, hard stone structure, empty inside.

~o~

Thursday, Alcide arrives with a new phone. Fortunately, I have my contacts saved in my laptop, too. I'm a little calmer today, and his visit serves to remind me of my responsibilities. I settle down into a steady routine of work, eat, and sleep. No distractions.

Days pass. She does not call. I don't, either. However, each and every night she visits my dreams, sometimes as an ingénue I seduce, other times as an irresistible, alluring succubus. Sometimes I don't remember the dreams, just awaken with sticky undies painted in my cum and a lingering ache in my chest.

The prospect of her walking out of my life, the first real friend I have made in a long time, is daunting. I look ahead, and see the very real possibility that all I will ever have is random, meaningless fucks. Yet, after my revelation and the memory of her shocked reaction, I cannot fathom what to say to her, how to recover the easy relationship we were building.

Thursday and Friday is filled with work. Saturday and Sunday – even more work. On Monday, with Alcide's assistance I go to the office for the first time in over a week. Although I am not a fan of deskwork, the change of scenery does me good.

Tuesday I decide to make the first move. After all, I was the one who blew it. I should apologize. I need to see her again. She never deserved the emotional outburst I unleashed on her. And if she is as good as I think, better than I deserve, maybe there is a chance she will forgive me. I think I crave her forgiveness as much as her presence.

Calling on her cell, I hit a dead end. Her mobile won't take a message. I call perhaps a dozen times during the day, my impatience growing exponentially with each failure. _Fuck!_

Back home I retrieve her business card, but it is too late for anyone to still be at her office. Her mobile is still not answering.

Sleep that night does not come easily; my rest is brief and not refreshing.

Wednesday morning, there is still no response on her line. _What if something has happened to her?_ I anxiously recall that she left very upset, and had to drive her car home by herself. _What if...?_ I start to feel a rising panic.

I retrieve her business card and quickly dial her company's landline. She must be there at this hour. Why didn't I do this yesterday?

After four long rings, a female voice answers. **Not** **her**. I introduce myself and inquire about her.

"Suzana doesn't work here anymore."

I am baffled, but manage to ask for details in what hopefully sounds like a professional tone.

"No, we don't have her personal number or any other personal details on her whereabouts. Bye."

Not working there? Did she quit? No, she would still be working, having given them her two week's notice. Something else? Fired, maybe? Better not go there; I feel a strong urge to rush to their offices and shake everyone until I get an answer.

After cooling off a bit, my mind actually starts to function again. What is the point of owning a security and private investigation company if I cannot locate one girl in my own city?

I pick up the phone again, and call my people. I still remember her car's license plate combination of letters, but not the numbers. Nevertheless, there cannot be that many yellow Pandas with an "SST" plate.

The information comes back in a couple of hours. Thanks to our friends in the traffic police division, I now have her address.

Another call and, thirty minutes later, Tray helps me get into his car. We stop briefly at a street flower vendor's to pick up a bouquet. I know how women respond when they see a guy bringing flowers to them. Moreover, these particular ones look like a woman's pussy. This might help convey the message that I am interested in her as more than just a friend, that I desire her in the way of men and women as well.

After twenty minutes, I finally stand up, with Tray's help, and take in the house of my new friend, my eye roving in appreciation over the remains of what was once a beautiful garden. It's a huge house that has clearly fallen into disrepair through criminal neglect, but there's her yellow car parked outside. I know this is where she lives, poor girl.

The front door stands open, and I hear raised voices, the anger apparent in the sounds that drift out to the street. The words are muffled at first, and I think of ringing the bell, not wishing to interrupt. Then I hear sounds that instantly make me change my mind.

Over what I take to be furniture tumbling, a scuffle between two people, and frantic screams, her voice awakens me from my indecision.! "_No, no! Bill! Let me go!"_

Forgetting all about my bad leg and dropping the crutches, I barge inside, only to stumble over the threshold, completely unprepared for the scene that awaits me.

_Disclaimer__: Charlanie Harris owns these guys, I just wrap them differently.

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_**A/N**_

_Thank you, my lovely betas, __**Scattered21 (**__**Princess Tweak)**__ and __**YoungBoho,**__ for being so kind as to review this, despite their busy-bee schedule. __Special thanks to __**Peppermintyrose**__ for keeping these characters in line with the sad reality that occurs in some people's lives. _

_I have a bonus chapter in progress for the holidays, an Eric/Sookie lemon-scented fantasy. I plan to post it between Christmas, and New Year, as a separate outtake._

_I wish you Happy Holidays. May Santa bring you gifts carefully chosen by those who love you.  
And a strapping Viking. *wink*_

_Your comments are the best gifts for Eric and Sookie. For me too, of course._


	14. Let's Play Ball

_**A/N: **__**Best wishes into the New Year. **_

_I hope you enjoyed my cupcake fantasy story - __**LoveHenge, **__which fits somewhere in the beginning of this chapter. _

_**Warning**__: A certain degree of abuse in this chapter. It was difficult to start to write, but satisfying in the end. If you don't like the sight of a dark Bill, you can just skip over the middle part._

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**Fast Approaching Death**

**14. Let's Play Ball**

The last few mornings dawned after long hours of sleepless tossing and turning, chasing the elusive escape that sleep would have offered.  
I now find myself lost in my too-quiet house, enlivened only by the creaking of the old floors and the sounds of crickets residing in the cracks in the walls. Here, my days crawl by at a strangely languorous pace.

The only distractions are when a television program or a book lulls me into a fantasy where none of the events of the last few days has happened. But it's rare I'm not rethinking everything that has occurred and what I might have done differently, if I'd only known.

Much like a compass needle pointing North, my thoughts are constantly drawn to a certain tall and blond man. I dream of him, day and night, to the point I can almost feel him here, beside me. I end up lying alone in my bed, a lot, just to be able to imagine him close, closer. Almost like an obsession. Almost.

_Thinking back to Andrei that day at the racetrack, I realize I was right to feel something was off. The only confusing thing was that Eric kissed me so passionately. Maybe it was just his excitement at winning the race, and I was the first person he saw. But even if he were straight, I'm no match for him. I remember his naked torso at the bungee jumping, and the feel of his strong body behind me. Guess I read more into that than was there, my own excitement clouding my judgment._

_Gay. Gay Eric. Shit! Such a waste... _

I try to imagine having Eric as a friend. A not-interested-in-me friend. Like a brother._ Brother, yes. Better than my own brother, as Jason only enjoyed making fun of his younger sister. Perhaps he would have taught me to ride a motorbike. We would have shared opinions about hot guys, gone shopping together. Yeah, right! Better get back to the real world Sookie. _

The real world was me repaying Eric's kindnesses toward me with overwrought sexual fantasies of him. I never considered his real feelings for a second. _How I wish I could take back all those hurtful words. _

I stare through blindly out the window. The flowers in the garden slowly come into focus, reminding me that time is irreversible. What was yesterday is no longer. You can only go forward.

_I gave up the telephone that contained his number, and I my right to see him. I don't like to think of this, to remember how foolish I have been. Foolishly hoping for something, anything real to develop between us... Fantasy Eric is much better. And all mine._ I tell myself that over and over again. I can only hope that I will eventually believe my own rosy lies.

I know I should take care of the mundane things I postponed when I was consumed with my former job. Things such as household repairs, paying some taxes, and updating my resume were all things I let slide. And now number one on my list of tasks is searching for a new job. But I've figured out that since I had procrastinated earlier, what harm is there in pushing them off a bit longer? I'll think about all of it tomorrow. Or maybe, the day after.

At one point, I had the energy to begin a long-delayed general cleaning, but got derailed when it came down to doing the windows. I simply couldn't continue when I saw my reflection in the first sparkling one I was tired-eyed, with messy hair, and a glum expression. It was all too much at once. I sat down on the couch and haven't looked out of a window since.

With effort, I began working on updating my resume, very well aware that I cannot afford to stay unemployed for much longer. But when I reached the "experience" and "last job responsibilities" sections, all I could remember was seeing Bill's fingers, with hideously long fingernails, unbuckling his belt in his "manager's" leather chair. And the sound of his sickening, drawled voice: _"Come Suzanah, come take what you want. I know you can't wait to suck me off."_

_**Fucker!**_ I should have tossed my cell phone at his self-satisfied face to wipe that horrid smile from his face. Of course, I instead smashed it into the top of my desk before storming out, never to return.

I should have known what Bill was planning. It should have been apparent to me once I saw his request for the one-on-one personnel consultation with each employee. Last week started the annual salary renegotiations. These were the first such discussions with Bill in our Company, since the previous manager was a lot less formal. I gathered all my previous year's achievements, carefully preparing my arguments as I intended to ask for a raise. I needed, and I was confident I deserved it. I felt self-empowered after the assertiveness seminar I had attended, listening in on the Speaker's tips between my organizing duties.

The meetings with Bill were scheduled towards the end of the work program, so the process wouldn't interfere with the normal workday flow. Or rather, that was the front idea.  
Monday was Lucian's and Diana's turns. For some reason Lucian meeting was brief: he was out in ten minutes. Diana's meeting with Bill took a long time, perhaps an hour. That evening I stayed a little past regular work hours to finish up some stuff that Miron should have done but instead dumped on me. When Diana finally exited Bill's office, she was flustered, hair disheveled hair, and totally ignored me._ She looked as if she had been crying; surely she should have received a good review. She's a model employee._ Soon after, Bill opened the door of his office, with a cat-that-eat-the-canary look. He left throwing me a "good night" though his grin. _I felt like vomiting, preferably all over his pale face._

The next day Diana appeared in a good mood so I thought nothing further of the incident. Things continued in a similar way, ending with a brief meeting with Miron and a much longer one for Ada. I had passed Bill's door on my way out and heard some strange noises but refrained from interrupting. I thought it was weird, but none of my business. _Ha! _

The sound of something shattering brings me back to the present. _Perfect!_ I just thrown the glass I had washed into the dish drainer like I was playing basketball with it.

However, I soon find my thoughts returning to the dark memories of my last day at work.

Wednesday: I wish I could erase that whole damn day from the calendar. Right before my own meeting, the very last one, as Ada and Diana prepared to leave, my former best friend from forever, leaned over my reception desk on her elbows with a mischievous glint in her green eyes. _"Sweet Suzy, I wish you good luck in earning your raise. Work hard for it." _And with a giggle, she and Diana were out of the door. I remember gaping stupidly after them, wondering what they were talking about.

I found out soon enough. But I don't even wish to recall the details of the whole thing. The sickening churning of my stomach brings it all back. Glancing toward my hands, I see that, unconsciously, I have started to rip apart the dishtowel I am holding.

_Better unemployed than to remain in his employ another second. I wish I could sue him, but I'm sure it would come down to my word against his. And he has more money to hire fancy attorneys. _

Sighing I put the worn cotton fabric aside and start to collect the broken pieces of glass. Doing so transports my mind back to Eric's bedroom. And, back to my verbal disaster. Having a friend in Eric would have been so great. He was so full of life. And my poorly chosen words reduced him to an emo mess. I'm such a failure! Looks like I am doomed either to find slim pickings, or to chase away any decent soul that crosses my path.

For a few moments, I remember Sam, my first and only real boyfriend. Unfortunately, not my first man. Maybe things would have worked out otherwise.  
But Sam was so boring, especially in bed. Plus, he demanded purity from me, and... How to put it into words? Normal. No. A minion, an obedient wife. His ideas of acceptable behavior for a wife were not mine. I wanted to live, to experience it all, but all I saw in his eyes was disapproval at my "foolishness." I also remember all too clearly his disappointment at not being my first lover. _Stop doing this, Sookie!_ _Sam would have never worked, anyway._ I also remember my own annoyance over him not caring if I orgasmed or not. Because I didn't.

Sam, or Samuel, was the son of one of the few of father's childhood friends he retained. As soon as he had fallen in love with and married my mother, a Christian that remained like that, he had become a pariah in his own Jewish community.

Sam was the perfect boyfriend at first, so attentive and polite. He was sweet, cute, and well bred. But there was too much self-righteousness in him for my imperfect self to truly exist near him. I would have had to renounce my religion to marry him. Not that I am a religious person. But it was a part of me that he demanded I renounce for him. It simply didn't feel right, any of it.

As I finish clearing out the kitchen, I go for another shower. Seems like an addiction these last few days. Scrubbing my skin with the hope that this will erase from the memory of Bill's tiny prick, nested in an ugly bush of dark hair_. It would have been funny if the situation weren't so revolting. Him sprawled like this in his chair, demanding I give into him... I'm not even sure what he wanted, a blowjob perhaps. I have no experience with that, and surely, that was no way to begin. _

My skin is nearly raw from scrubbing it with the washing brush. I get out, wrapped in the bathrobe which has become my usual attire, very easy to remove for the next shower. I should go slowly on the hot water consumption. I must be more careful now with expenses. And I need to put more energy into finding a new job, as there is no one I can turn to for financial support.

The sound of the doorbell awakes me up from my unhappy musing. I hope it is the postman with some good news, even if he hardly ever rings. I hurry to open the door, only to come to an abrupt halt when I see an all-too-familiar pale face at the threshold.

"Why, Suzanah, won't you invite me in?"

My mind seems frozen and a reflex deeply ingrained by my Gran causes me to automatically respond with, "Would you please come in?"

I wanted to slap myself as soon as he steps in and turns to me, his eyes roaming from my chest to toes and back, avoiding my eyes.

"Suzana, I don't understand. What happened? You know I care about you. Why did you quit like that? Come here, let's talk."

He saunters past me, taking a seat on my couch, patting the place next to him and continuing nonchalantly, "You know, I should be upset, but instead here I am, asking you to come back to work."

I stand gaping at this impossible man. _Where on earth does he find such audacity?_

Eventually I walk into the room, standing near the door, as far from him as possible without being plainly rude.

He goes on unperturbed. "You know we have money difficulties in this economic environment, but the raise is yours, you've only to come back. And apologize."

"Apologize?"

"You are not slow, are you Sookie?" He asks in a condescending tone.  
I stare incredulously at Bill sprawled on my couch with a thumb in one of his belt loops, patting casually his groin.

"You don't know much about the world, do you?"I look back up at his face, and he grins widely. He continues in an instructional manner, as if speaking to a child.  
"We are not of the same clay. I am a man, you are a woman. I am the manager; you are under me in the organization. Do I have to spell it out for you?"

His voice feels like a zillion snails slithering along my insides.

"Get out, Bill." I close my eyes, as I can't stand the sight of him squeezing himself through the dark fabric.

"Ah, you are calling me Bill. At last." I keep my eyes tightly shut, pointing at the door. I can only hope that he will be gone by the time I open them again.

"May I get a good-bye kiss?" His voice comes from far too close for my liking. I feel the fine hair on the back of my neck standing up.

But as I open my mouth to say "No!" his mouth is on mine, his cold hard tongue forcing its way inside.  
Silencing any sound of protest.  
I cannot breathe.  
His hands are inside my robe, grabbing, roaming, squeezing painfully. He tugs the fabric down my shoulders with hands too strong for me to be able to withstand.

Suddenly his mouth leaves mine, and I gulp for air.

"Oh, I'll have you at last, like the little naughty tart you are." I still feel his fingers digging into my flesh and a sudden sharp pain in my breast makes me cry.  
He bit me!

"Yes! Cry out your desire for me."

I yell, my voice turning into sobbing as I feel myself thrown over a piece of furniture like a rag doll. Someone's broken pleading, incoherent, is lost in the scuffle.

He pins me down, and licks his lips with a crazy glint in his eyes. "Beg all right. You invited me in, wearing nothing but a fluffy cotton robe, smelling and looking all sweet and edible, and then you do not like the consequences. Well. Here is the consequence."  
He takes my hand and places it over the bulge in his pants.  
"Do you know what you do to me? Feel me!" He forces me to touch him. "Soon you will feel a lot more." He licks his sleazy lips as he watches my squirming body, his eyes never reaching to my face.

"Please don't, I won't tell anyone. Just let me..." He grabs the flesh of my belly with fingers like claws.

"Oh, you won't tell anyone all right, 'cause no one would care."

"No, no! Bill! Let me go!"

"You lead men on, and then you act surprised that they can't help themselves. I cannot control myself around you." The collected, determined voice chills my soul.

"I know you want it too, just as much as I do." He looks right into my eyes, and the storm brewing in his usually dull eyes is more frightening than anything else. The futility of pleading is clear now, and I feel a surge of adrenaline. _It's him or me._

"You will beg me for more before the day is done."

His other hand unbuckles his belt and begins tugging at his pants. His crazy smile turns into a frown, as his zipper seems stuck. Both of his hands are on himself now, and he glances at the troublesome part. I seize the opportunity, using one of the few things that my brother ever taught me well. I plunged my knee right into his balls, with the deep desire to shove them right up into him. Deep. Inside. His. Body.

In a split second, there is no more Bill hovering over me, but instead a crumpled, moaning asshole, crying at my feet. _Feels so damn good._

I leap over him, grab Gran's silver Menorah, and swing it, fully intending to split his head in two if he dares to so as much as to look at me ever again.

A loud banging sound pierces the red haze obscuring my vision. Turning my eyes from the piece of shit still whining beneath me, I am met by a pool of cerulean blue. Ones I never thought I'd see again.

Our eyes lock. I feel like a prisoner that gets to see the sky for the first time on liberation day.

_Eric! _

A stream of curses breaks our gaze: Bill.

As I look towards him, I also realize one thing. **I'm naked.**

_Oh, God! _

I shriek, and drop the Menorah. My hands flying to my chest. I try not to look at Eric, searching frantically for something to cover myself. But it's futile.

I almost jump as he touches my shoulder, and hands me something. It's a shirt, a bright pink one. Looking down, I see that the blush on my skin has turned me redder than the shirt I'm holding. Embarrassed, I turn my back to him and pull it on as swiftly as possible, fingers trembling, breath coming in great gulps of air after my exertions. Thankfully, the t-shirt is very long for me, nearly as long as a beach dress, and I'm covered.

When I turn again to Eric, he's taken Bill by the scruff of his neck and is dragging him towards the front door he left standing open when he entered. Despite Bill's protests, Eric nearly kicks him out of the house, slamming the door behind them. I can't help noticing that Eric is a lot taller than Bill.  
The sound of the slamming door is like a signal that triggers the boneless sensation in my legs. I'm suddenly in danger of collapsing. Before my legs fold underneath me, I slide into the nearest armchair. I feel cold all over, tremors racing through my body. My hand looks like a leaf in the wind, with deep red marks from clutching the silver chandelier, ready to use it if necessary. I pull the hem of the pink shirt down over my legs, hugging my knees and placing my forehead against them. I stare blindly at the shockingly colored fabric. At the moment, all I can think about is that Eric is wearing pink! _How cool is that!_

After a very long time, I sense a presence in front of me and I grab myself tighter, willing my eyes closer. But a delicious, known citric scent signals a desired presence.

A warm hand cups my chin and gently lifts it. I finally look at him, half-naked, on his knees in front of me. His eyes are full of concern. And seeing it is all it takes; the tears come in waves, punctuated by the sounds of my uncontrollable sobbing. I'm crying from the shame, tempered by my overwhelming feelings of relief and gratitude for my rescue.

"He's a pig. And won't be coming back."  
Wordlessly, I shake my head. The tears feel cold on my checks when he exhales, the stream of cool air noticeable in the summer heat trapped in the room. I feel his lips pressing into my hair. Strong, warm arms envelop me, pulling a sheet over the harsh reality I narrowly escaped with Eric's help.

_I want to go to sleep.

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_**A/N**_  
_Thank you,__**Scattered21 **__(__**Princess Tweak**__)__ my lovely beta and my prereader __**YoungBoho.**__ Special thanks to __**Peppermintyrose**__ for keeping these characters in line with the sad reality that occurs in some people's lives._

_Sexual violence and rape in particular, is considered the most under-reported violent crime. Thus, the number of reported rapes is lower than both incidence and prevalence rates. A United Nations report compiled from government sources showed that more than 250,000 cases of rape or attempted rape were recorded by police annually. The reported data covered just 65 countries._

_**Disclaimer**__: Charlaine Harris owns these guys, I just love to use Bill as my personal punching bag from time to time._

_**Thank you**__ all for reading it, for your kind words of encouragement, and the favorite story tagging._


	15. Little Fairy

_**A/N**_

_This chapter was in a suspended state for a while. Real life gave me a needed break from writing it, as __it was difficult to figure out this chapter. I planned something else entirely, but I just had to let things follow their natural course. And allow Eric to take his time with this, as he did._

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**15. ****Little Fairy**

_**EPOV**_

Police just left, taking that fucker William Compton with them for further interrogation. I overheard them advising him to be more careful on the stairs. Such a shame he was so clumsy as to break his nose and few ribs as soon as he was thrown outside Sookie's house.

Naturally, both Tray and I had had a few well-placed "words" with him. By the time the policemen arrived, he fell on them as his own knights in shining uniforms. But this won't be the last time he hears from me. I have a wide array of favors to collect. And I intend to use as many as I can to make sure that by the time he is free again, he won't even be able to think of abusing another woman. On second thought, I think he may decide to leave the country as soon as he will be allowed to do so. He would be fool not to. His safety cannot be guaranteed ever again.

I step back inside her house, trying to make just enough noise to be heard, and not to startle her.  
Sookie.  
When I initially entered the house, I was stopped in my tracks by the sight of her. Stark naked, with a wild halo of disheveled blond hair, a candelabra in hand, she was right at the point of hitting him. A striking Amazon warrior. No, make that a Valkyrie. Just like the mythical creatures from mamma's Sagas. Yet, now, she looks so small and fragile, sunk into an old armchair. Wearing _my_ shirt. I wave away the thoughts that threaten to derail me. This is definitely not the time.

I kneel before her, again, and start speaking in the softest, most nonthreatening tone I can muster.

"Police have left." No reaction from Sookie.

"I informed them we are from your home security company. You set off the panic alarm, and we came to investigate the location."

She doesn't lift her head, nodding, keeping her face hidden.

My arms go around her, almost on their own, sheltering her small form. She still trembles. Such a tiny human. I long to have her shrink even smaller for me, as small as a fairy, and place her in my pocket, or beneath my clothing, next to my heart. Perhaps then, the tremor in my chest will recede, too.

I want to say I'll keep her safe. But I know that's not entirely possible. Shit happens. "There is a team on its way to install an alarm as we speak."

She clears her throat, and then speaks in a whispered voice. "I... I don't think I can... afford it, right now."

"Since I already stated it as fact, I'm doing this mostly to cover my ass, you know. And I still hope you will seriously consider my earlier job offer." Then, on a more sober note, "You will have to go to the police station tomorrow or the day after tomorrow for a detailed statement. Also you will have to go in tomorrow to forensics for a recorded medical report."

Sookie lifts her head and stares at me. She looks lost, like a small child in an overcrowded supermarket, not finding anything familiar. My heart aches as I recognize the look in her eyes. It's all too from too many times staring into my own mirror.

"Do you have a friend that might come to spend tonight with you?"

She looks past me. Then shakes her head.

"May I stay with you? Or maybe you could come with me to my house, just for tonight."

"Yes, please stay, thank you." She squeezes her eyelids tightly shut. "I'm so tired."

"Do you want to have a shower first?"

She clutches her legs harder. "No, no shower."

"A bath then?" She nods her assent.

I get up, and realize I have no idea where things are around here.

"Upstairs."

I gather her in my arms and take her up with me. We enter a small bedroom, with worn out furniture. Just like in the living room, hundreds of books lay piled on many shelves. I move purposely into the adjoining small bathroom. I set her down on the seat of the toilet and proceed to prepare a relaxing soak for her. The tiles and fixtures are old and cracked and stained, and yet very clean. I throw in the tub some bubble bath then decide to throw in scented salts too, and wait quietly for the water level to rise. She seems a bit more relaxed, and I don't dare break into her thoughts. I know she needs time to come to terms with what's happened. She needs to find herself. And I am glad to simply be here for her.

Turning off the faucets, I reach for the door, to go out, to allow her some privacy and dignity. But she grabs my hand, in a surprisingly strong grip. With a silent cry, Sookie implores me, _don't go_.

"Not going anywhere. Come on, get in before the water turns cold."

I remain standing with my back to her, listening to her movements, until I heard the water ripples settle. Then I take a seat on the toilet, still with my eyes closed. The quiet stretches long and thin in the small chamber.

A familiar tune begins to play in my memory, and I start humming it, mostly for myself. Soon the words begin to come back, insistent that I listen:

_One elephant began to play_

_Upon a spider's web one day,_

_He found it such tremendous fun_

_That he called on another elephant to come._

_Two elephants began to play..._

Pam's song. Probably the only one she had in her motherly repertoire, other than the drunken party tunes. It always had a hypnotic, almost magical effect on me. Calming, relaxing, making me forget. Only you can never fully forget.

~o~

I retrieve her from the already cold water, wrapped in a towel, big enough to cover most of her. I carry her to her bed, trying not to notice the swell of her chest or the softness of her body in my arms. Instead, I focus on her blue lips and chattering teeth. I place her on the bed, and turn as she takes out a white nightgown from under the pillow. Finding a blanket, I cover her after she dresses herself. It's yellow one, with blue flowers. Bellflowers.

_Tinkerbell. My little fairy._

_Would her fairy dust make me fly? That would be nice._

I lay down on top of the blanket, trying to find a good position for my now Velcro-fastened cast, not sure how and where to place my hands. I want to hold her, but I'm not sure I should. Until she turns to me, and silently places her forehead against my chest. Letting out a breath I had no idea I was holding, I wrap her small figure in my much larger one.

And, with a last fleeting thought, I fall asleep. _All will be well. How? Only time will tell._

_.  
_

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_**A/N**_

_Next chapter will also be from Eric's point of view. It just felt right to end this one here._

_**Thank you all** for being here for Sookie and Eric. Please let me know your thoughts._

**_Disclaimer_**_**:** Not mine. But I still trust that all will be well with these amazing characters, and not just in this story._


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